Tiberius the trash panda shirt

The late summer sun, still warm enough to make the air thick, was casting long shadows across the overgrown patch behind my apartment building. I’d been meaning to tackle that wild mess for weeks, but the allure of Netflix and a cold beer had always won out. Now, though, I was regretting my procrastination. It all started when I was making myself a sandwich, and I saw a flash of movement out of the kitchen window, the culprit, a particularly brazen raccoon, rooting around in my discarded garbage.

This wasn’t just any raccoon, oh no. This one, I soon learned, was a legend. We called him, Tiberius the trash panda, though I confess, I think my neighbor, Mrs. Gable, a woman with a penchant for historical fiction, coined the name. Anyway, the name stuck. He was a master strategist, this Tiberius, always a step ahead of my half-hearted attempts to outsmart him. I tried bungee cords, heavy lids, even those fancy bear-proof bins (borrowed, I might add, from my exceedingly careful friend, Sarah).

Every time I’d think I had him, he’d prove me wrong. I’d wake up to the rhythmic clatter of overturned cans, the telltale rustle of ripped-open bags, and, inevitably, the smug, masked gaze of Tiberius himself, feasting on my leftovers. It was infuriating, yes, but also, in a weird way, kind of impressive. I remember one particularly frustrating night, after spending hours wrestling with a particularly stubborn bin, I just sat down on the stoop, defeated, and found myself chuckling. My dad, God rest his soul, used to say, “If you can’t beat ’em, join ’em.” I thought about that, contemplating my latest strategic defeat from Tiberius. So one day, armed with a bag of slightly stale bread crusts and some bruised apples I’d been meaning to compost, I left a small offering near my trash. I felt silly, completely ridiculous, but I did it anyway.

The next morning, the bins were undisturbed. But, by the evening, the little offering was gone. I don’t know why, but I felt a weird sort of satisfaction. The truce was established, a begrudging respect between man and… well, trash panda. I still kept my guard up, sure, but the nightly battles had ceased. Maybe it was just the act of surrender, or perhaps Tiberius, a creature of habit, had simply moved on to easier pickings.