Francine Poulet Meets the Ghost Raccoon: "Francine Poulet Meets the Ghost Raccoon" by Kate DiCamillo

In addition, Francine was the Gizzford County record holder for most animals controlled. She had successfully and officially and expeditiously (for the most part) captured dogs, cats, rats, pigs, snakes, squirrels, chipmunks, bats, raccoons, and, also, fish.

“I am being tormented,” said Mrs. Bissinger.
“Yep,” said Francine.
Everyone who called the Animal Control Center was being tormented in one way or another. Francine was never surprised to hear about it.

Francine missed Clement. She even missed his dire predictions.

“Interesting,” said Francine. “The raccoon says, ‘Mrs. Bissinger’?”
“No,” said Mrs. Bissinger. “He says ‘Tammy.’ He screams my first name. He screams it like a banshee. Perhaps this raccoon is a ghost raccoon?”

That night, Francine Poulet drove her animal control truck to 4214 Fleeker Street. She rang the doorbell.
A woman wearing a large diamond necklace, dangly ruby earrings, several flashy rings, and a multi-stone brooch answered the door.

“Well,” said Francine, “okay, then. I think I will just head up on the roof and catch this raccoon.”
“You will find him to be a wily adversary, almost supernatural in his abilities,” said Mrs. Bissinger.

“Well,” said Francine, “okay, then. I think I will just head up on the roof and catch this raccoon.”
“You will find him to be a wily adversary, almost supernatural in his abilities,” said Mrs. Bissinger.

“Well,” said Francine, “okay, then. I think I will just head up on the roof and catch this raccoon.”
“You will find him to be a wily adversary, almost supernatural in his abilities,” said Mrs. Bissinger.

Francine’s heart was beating so fast that she thought it might actually leap out of her chest and skitter across the roof.

How did the raccoon know to call her secret name?
Was the raccoon truly a ghost?
These were exactly the kinds of questions that Francine did not think she should be considering at this juncture.

She had one foot on the ladder and one on the roof when she heard Mrs. Bissinger’s disembodied voice say, “Have you captured the raccoon?”

The front-page headline read: Local Animal Control Officer Takes a Tumble in Great Raccoon Caper

Underneath the picture were the words “Raccoon Still at Large; Animal Control Officer Poulet Recuperating at the Gizzford Regional Hospital.”

Underneath the picture were the words “Raccoon Still at Large; Animal Control Officer Poulet Recuperating at the Gizzford Regional Hospital.”

“Can you scratch my left foot?” she said to Mrs. Bissinger. Mrs. Bissinger put down the paper and stood up and gave Francine’s foot a tentative little tap.
“How’s that?” she said.
“That didn’t help at all,” said Francine.
“Oh, well,” said Mrs. Bissinger.

“Yes,” said Francine. “I failed. I panicked.” She turned her head and looked out the window. It was dark outside. Francine could see the lights of Gizzford winking and blinking, mocking her.

Mordus Toopher wore a brown corduroy suit and a brown-and-orange toupee. The toupee had always disturbed Francine. It reminded her of a chipmunk pelt.

“You have battled many a snake and outwitted many a squirrel,” said Mordus. “You have stared a bear, that dark and ferocious mystery, in the eye, and that dark and ferocious mystery blinked first.”

“You have battled many a snake and outwitted many a squirrel,” said Mordus. “You have stared a bear, that dark and ferocious mystery, in the eye, and that dark and ferocious mystery blinked first.”

“And now you have reached this impasse of the soul, this gloomy, doomy time of self-appraisal. I wonder: Will you dwell here in your small shame and sad defeat? Will you truly allow yourself to be undone by one ignoble screaming raccoon?”
“Yes,” said Francine.

“And now you have reached this impasse of the soul, this gloomy, doomy time of self-appraisal. I wonder: Will you dwell here in your small shame and sad defeat? Will you truly allow yourself to be undone by one ignoble screaming raccoon?”
“Yes,” said Francine.

“Can I have my trophies?” said Francine.
“I am afraid that the trophies must remain here,” said Mordus, “property of Gizzford Animal Control Center, procured under the auspices, et cetera, et cetera. And et cetera.” He smiled a sad smile.

“Can I have my trophies?” said Francine.
“I am afraid that the trophies must remain here,” said Mordus, “property of Gizzford Animal Control Center, procured under the auspices, et cetera, et cetera. And et cetera.” He smiled a sad smile.

She watched the dusk turn into a velvety darkness. She watched as a gibbous moon rose in the sky and shone on Mrs. Bissinger’s empty, extremely tall, extremely steep roof.

“Why are you hiding in my rhododendron?” said a voice.
Francine looked up. Mrs. Bissinger was standing above her, bejeweled and gleaming.
“I am not hiding,” said Francine.

Francine Poulet got a job as a cashier at Clyde’s Bait, Feed, Tackle, and Animal Necessities. Her left leg, the one she had broken when she fell from Mrs. Bissinger’s roof with the raccoon in her arms, continued to ache. So Francine sat on a stool as she rang up dog chow and plastic worms, chicken feed and rawhide bones, fishing poles and horse bridles.

She killed a lot of flies. In fact, she kept a running tally of how many flies she had whacked, just so she could convince herself that she was making progress of some sort.

Fly 239 zoomed back and forth in front of her, taunting her.

She swung the fly swatter through the air in a menacing sort of way, even though Fly 239 had disappeared.

“Raccoons carry rabies,” said Frank. “Raccoons bite. Raccoons steal things. I read an article about a raccoon who stole a baby right out of its cradle.”

A great shaft of sunlight came in through the plate-glass windows of Clyde’s and made the bags of dog chow glow like misshapen ghosts.

“Are you truly an animal control officer?” shouted Eugenia. “Or are you just some nut job gallivanting on my roof? And more to the point, who says I have a raccoon on my roof to begin with?”

“That’s Animal Control Officer Francine Poulet,” said Frank.
“Oh,” said Mrs. Watson. “Of course. I didn’t recognize her in the dark. Hello, dear. You once helped us locate our porcine wonder. Hello.”
And then, in the middle of this slightly inane exchange of pleasantries, there came a terrible, bloodcurdling scream.

“That’s Animal Control Officer Francine Poulet,” said Frank.
“Oh,” said Mrs. Watson. “Of course. I didn’t recognize her in the dark. Hello, dear. You once helped us locate our porcine wonder. Hello.”
And then, in the middle of this slightly inane exchange of pleasantries, there came a terrible, bloodcurdling scream.

“That’s Animal Control Officer Francine Poulet,” said Frank.
“Oh,” said Mrs. Watson. “Of course. I didn’t recognize her in the dark. Hello, dear. You once helped us locate our porcine wonder. Hello.”
And then, in the middle of this slightly inane exchange of pleasantries, there came a terrible, bloodcurdling scream.

Francine was reinstated by Mordus Toopher.
Mordus Toopher said, “This is a day of reclamation. This is a day when the shadows recede and the sun shines brightly. The true self is recalled and celebrated, and the trophies are returned to the animal control officer both literally and metaphorically. What I mean to say is: welcome back, Francine.”

Francine was reinstated by Mordus Toopher.
Mordus Toopher said, “This is a day of reclamation. This is a day when the shadows recede and the sun shines brightly. The true self is recalled and celebrated, and the trophies are returned to the animal control officer both literally and metaphorically. What I mean to say is: welcome back, Francine.”

Francine was reinstated by Mordus Toopher.
Mordus Toopher said, “This is a day of reclamation. This is a day when the shadows recede and the sun shines brightly. The true self is recalled and celebrated, and the trophies are returned to the animal control officer both literally and metaphorically. What I mean to say is: welcome back, Francine.”

Francine was reinstated by Mordus Toopher.
Mordus Toopher said, “This is a day of reclamation. This is a day when the shadows recede and the sun shines brightly. The true self is recalled and celebrated, and the trophies are returned to the animal control officer both literally and metaphorically. What I mean to say is: welcome back, Francine.”

“And who is this young and earnest fellow?” said Mordus Toopher.
“My name is Franklin Endicott, sir,” said Frank. “I am Miss Poulet’s understudy. If you don’t mind.”