A Letter From Raccoon by Yuliia Krasii

The first time I found the letter on my desk was September 28th.

That one afternoon I came back from lunch to my dormitory room to change into a sports uniform for tennis and saw a piece of paper on the desk. It just lay there as in a spotlight. I froze in surprise and fear. Someone broke into my room, someone could possibly steal my belongings and read the diary I kept. 

I looked around the room, where everything seemed untouched. There was not even a single crease on a bedsheet. I came closer to the desk and took something that recalled a letter. The envelope was dirty with no address, name, or signature on it. There was so much glue and my hands were trembling, so I struggled to open it for a couple of minutes. When I finally did, I found a short letter inside. It said: “You’re like a lonely cat who is afraid of people. And I’m like a racoon. Can cat and racoon be friend?”

And a clumsy drawing of a cat and a raccoon sitting under the tree, having a picnic. I stared at this piece of paper and couldn’t understand a single thing. Who could have written such a weird thing? I read it again and again, trying to guess who may have left it, but my mind couldn’t concentrate enough. 

Days went by, and I forgot about the letter until I got another one. Dirty, with lots of glue and mistakes. And then another one, and another one. So they started piling up in my room. I thought about writing back so many times, but I didn’t have any idea to whom I would write and where should I leave it. So I never wrote back, enjoying little notes which seemed funnier each time.

On a December afternoon, I got my last anonymous letter. I sat in the canteen, watching the snow fall. Someone slightly tapped my shoulder, making me almost jump. 

“Shoosh! Don’t be scared, it’s special post delivery for Catrine!” the girl’s voice was bright and clean, like a ringing bell above my ears. 

“Thanks,” I replied, taking a clumsy letter. The girl stared at me and didn’t move, “thanks. Do you need something else?” 

“Yes,” she bowed her head enthusiastically, “open the letter”. 

“It’s a bit private,” I tried to persuade her, but it didn’t seem to work. 

“Nothing that I don’t know about,” she laughed loudly, “come on! You will love it”. 

I surrendered. “Hello, dear cat! We finally meet!” with a little drawing of a cat and a raccoon shaking hands. 

I blinked and looked at her. 

“Oh, don’t tell me you don’t get it!” she whined. I shook my head. 

“You’re making it so awkward, Catrine, please, don’t make me explain it”, the girl put her hands to her cheeks, “alright, alright! I’m the one who wrote you all these letters”. 

“Oh,” was the only thing I managed to say that day. 

And the letters continued to flow, from room to room, from desks to lockets, from hands to hearts.