Just when the world needed a viral distraction, a raccoon decided to scale a Minnesota skyscraper. The creature's journey and persistent peril streamed live and was tweeted about incessantly throughout the day Tuesday, leaving everyone with questions: Will he fall or won't he? Is he a he or a she? Am I a terrible person for assuming the raccoon is a he? Why do people keep calling him or her a "trash panda"? Isn't that a slur in the raccoon community?
But there was a more important question to be asked: When did raccoons learn to climb tall buildings like varmint versions of Spider-Man, and what, exactly, are these dodgy-eyed critters plotting?
I don't trust raccoons. They have done nothing to earn my trust. In fact, I once had a run-in with a trio of the trash-hungry mammals. They were rude and bullied me. More on that in a moment.
But, first, the St. Paul raccoon. It managed to climb more than 20 stories up the face of the UBS Plaza tower, across the street from Minnesota Public Radio's newsroom, stopping a couple of times on a ledge to nap or engage in some perverted raccoon grooming.
As news of the wall-crawler spread, Twitter users launched the hashtag #mprraccoon, and global productivity came to a screeching halt. Foolishly, humans turned the raccoon into a social-media sensation, and the coverage was fawning.
A report on National Public Radio's website began: "High above the bustling streets of St. Paul, Minn., among monoliths of concrete and glass, a daring climber has defied the odds — and the altitude — to capture a city's heart."
The raccoon was described as "death defying" and "a hero." People shared superherolike drawings they sketched of the raccoon. As the four-legged assassin began a slow descent Tuesday night, a breathless world prayed for a safe return to Earth.
And when the bloodthirsty demon turned around and made it all the way to the roof Wednesday morning, where it was thankfully captured by authorities and, hopefully, spirited away to Guantanamo, the world rejoiced.