I have had a very strange life. Occasionally I get into bizarre adventures that remind me of how weird my life is, and last night was one of them.

I decided to go out for a walk. Nice and normal enough. It was a lovely evening, a bit cool with a tiny mist peppering down, but warm enough once you got going at a brisk walk.

I'd been cooped inside all day packing, so I decided to go for a longish stroll of about five miles. I swung along, my thoughts pleasantly rambling, until I came toward a T junction in a residential neighbourhood. The headlights of a car behind me picked out a small dark animal running rather frantically back and forth at the end of the intersection, looking as if it was in some distress.

Alarmed, I picked up my pace. Perhaps it was a lost cat that needed help. When I crossed the intersection, however, the animal was nowhere to be found. Assuming it had vanished into the adjoining park, I gave up and walked on. Probably it was simply a neighbourhood cat out for an evening prowl.

But as I walked further, I spotted it again and did a double take. It was not a cat but a small raccoon, stumbling about in panic. A can was stuck completely over its head, probably from a forage through a recycling bin. The poor animal rushed here and there, occasionally crashing into the curb, unable to see and no doubt in a terrible state of fear.

I called to it, idiotically. Probably it couldn't even hear me, and if it could, that would only have doubled its panic. What could I do? For a moment I pondered catching it, but even if I was able to wrestle it down and pull the can off its head, I'd then have an armful of terrified and very feisty raccoon. Not savouring the thought of being bitten, I discarded that idea.

I'd have to contact animal control. I pulled out my phone and dialed 411, only to be informed by a recording that I didn't have enough credit. By this time the raccoon was running down the road. I followed, keeping it in sight, and quickly dialed the number of a friend. She answered, I explained the situation as rapidly as possible, and after getting the number of the Portsmouth police, hung up and dialed them.

The raccoon had run into a paved area that ends in fencing on two sides and a gate into an Irving Oil complex, with a highway bridge overhead. Relieved, I assumed that the animal would be effectively contained by the fencing until help could arrive.

But as I finished the conversation with my friend, I watched in dismay as the raccoon stumbled into the fence, and instead of turning, climbed it with astonishing swiftness and dropped over the other side. By the time the call to the police went through and I pressed the option for emergency (seemingly the only way to talk to anybody), it had run away from the fence through the field on the other side, over a little hill, and out of sight.

"So he's not near any houses, and you can't see him?" the officer repeated. I imagined him shaking his head and muttering, "Crazy lady" as he wrote his report. "In that case, we can't send anyone out. Keep an eye out and if you see him again, give us a call."

"OK," I said, and hung up. I couldn't see the raccoon at all, so defeated, I turned and walked away.

Then I heard someone calling, "Can I help you, ma'am?" I turned to see the silhouette of a man standing on the inside of the Irving Oil gate.

"Well, there was a raccoon and..." I walked back toward him, babbling out my story and feeling very ridiculous. He heard me out, then asked, "Do you have a flashlight?"

I didn't, just a small light on my cellphone. "OK, just a moment," he said. "I'll get the gate and a flashlight." With that, he trotted off.

Unsure of what to do, I waited, until a moment later the motorized gate started sliding open. I stepped inside, very aware of a motion detection laser I'd just broken and wondering if I was doing the right thing. Just as the man reappeared, the gate slid closed. I momentarily contemplated dashing out, but stayed where I was.

"So where did he go?" the guy, who in the light turned out to be young and rather pleasant-looking, asked. I explained again. "Is there some way into the fence from the park?" I asked. We were still on the wrong side of the fence the raccoon had climbed.

"No, there's another gate I can open," he responded. He lead me along the fence where, sure enough, we came to another small gate which he unlocked, letting us into the area the raccoon had entered.

"He's probably in these trees somewhere," he said, swinging the flashlight beam into a stand of woods. "We hear 'em in here all the time, fighting each other. They sound like monkeys."

We searched through the trees, but found nothing. "Do you mind if we look further this way?" I asked, feeling idiotic. "I just know if he doesn't get that can off his head, he'll probably die."

The Irving Oil man was completely obliging. Obviously I provided an interesting break in what was probably a very boring night shift. We tramped over the rest of the field, wading through long wet grass and stumbling over fallen tree branches. Once, he spotted something that turned out to be a cat.

Embarrassed, I kept apologizing, but he replied cheerfully, "I've got nothing better to do. This will go down in tonight's report as 'inspecting perimeter fence'."

Suddenly, what had been a light mist turned into a very heavy downpour. Seeing no sign of the raccoon, we decided to give up. "They're pretty clever things," he said reassuringly. "Maybe he'll find some way to get the can off."

The rain was coming down so heavily that by the time we reached the gate we were drenched. "Can I offer you a raincoat?" the man asked. "That might not be a bad idea," I responded, my normal dislike of accepting gifts overridden by the unpleasant thought of walking home in the rain.

We reached the shelter of his office, where I waited as he disappeared into an adjoining room and came back with a huge navy blue hooded slicker. When I put it on, it came down to my knees and would have covered about five of me. "How do I return it?" I asked, but he waved his hand. "Don't worry, we have tons of them. Just keep it."

We introduced ourselves and chatted for a few minutes as he shared stories of a skunk who used to visit him every day and share his lunch, a raccoon who was friendly until she had babies, and various cats who regularly dropped by. He offered me coffee, which I turned down, and turned out to have a very nice smile.

I said goodbye and set off into the rainy night, sad for the raccoon but warmed by the crazy encounter with a nice person. As I walked toward the gate he waved and called goodnight from a truck loading dock.

Life is weird sometimes, but sometimes, it's weirdly good.