tired

I'm a somnabulist.
That's a sleep walker in plain English.
Actually I'm a faux somnabulist.
This morning at 1 a.m. Pepe LePew's son or daughter (actually I don't know how you identify or correctly categorize a baby skunk) skedaddled across my tent and grazed my body. I didn't panic and bellow out a blood-curdling yell. I just expeditiously exited my tent and bemoaned my ill fate. That's the second time this week the goldarned skunk has awakened me at 1 a.m. He or she, whichever, must have a built in alarm clock set for 1 a.m.
I'm befuddled.
How do I rid myself of this nuisance?
Some say eradicate him with lead poisoning or a gun stuffed inside a towel.
Nope.
I'm no dope.
I've never fired a gun in my life.
I can't call Skunk Busters Unlimited.
I guess the only other alternative is to leave food outside the campgrounds, so he will just feast elsewhere.
Otherwise, I guess I'm doomed to dealing with this nonsense every night. I will pray for rain.
On Oct. 3 a group of caring Christians are planning a pancake breakfast for the homeless. Hopefully we'll be able to feed and clothe some winter warriors.
Further announcements and updates will be posted.
More than likely, we'll solicit invitations and tickets and issue want sheets.