ONE OF MY new year’s resolutions is to challenge myself creatively. Last year I attempted to find creative inspiration from collecting rocks in Prospect Park, so this year I had to up the ante, trying something even more daunting. I shall attempt to write an entire column on Groundhog Day. And there’s a twist -- how Groundhog Day relates to Brooklyn.

First things first, let’s clear up what this holiday actually is. We all know this wonderful day which falls on the second day in February unless it’s a Leap Year in which case it is celebrated the day after the first. It is also my second favorite holiday, number two to only Halloween. It’s the day on which Punxsutawney Phil unless it’s Punxsutawney Pete, depending on which one isn’t dead, clamors out of his hole in the ground looking for sunlight. If he sees the light, he scampers back into his hole never to be seen again, resembling me on a Monday morning. If he runs away to hide, we are cursed with six more weeks of torrid winter whereas if it’s cloudy out and he decides to stick around above ground spring will come the very next day and I can dust off my bike, reinflating the tires. In either event, if we do not like the decision, it is our goal as humans to blame the poor, defenseless animal.

Now let’s clear up fact number two -- there are no groundhogs in Brooklyn. This was researched thoroughly by spending half of the morning on the phone with various wildlife preserves and finally being referred to a 212 number where I left a message. Therefore I can conclude that, if there is a groundhog in Brooklyn, he did not return my calls as of press time (and he doesn’t have a Brooklyn phone number). So I shall assert that there are no groundhogs here. This fact, however, shall not phase me from writing upon it extensively (at least 1,000 words worth) since Brooklyn has plenty of other cute, fuzzy animals skulking around the borough to fill in for them.

The city’s cat population continues to stray into the hundreds. This year’s latest addition includes two felines that have found the landlord’s planter box next to the rotting pumpkin on the front porch a cozy haven. Seeing them curled up in the dirt, lovingly warming each other while snuggled in the planter would soothe the cockles of my heart -- had I not seen them use that exact planter as a litter box the day before. This year’s crop of cats are intelligent, too.

One especially wintry day I had asked one of the duo if he would like to come inside, beckoning him into the hall. He looked at his friend who immediately donned a pair of spectacles and drew up a chart, weighing the pros and cons of spending a night in our apartment. After much deliberation, he decided that he and his friend would rather freeze to death in a dank alleyway than come inside and be forced to watch Monday Night Football.

I told you these cats are intelligent.

There has also been a stray cat scare at the New York Aquarium. Word has it that they are trying to infiltrate the penguin exhibit. My boyfriend claims it’s to get at the fish but, since I have witnessed, firsthand, the extreme intelligence of these cats, I know it’s to destroy the entire strain of Emperor Penguins in the hopes of sending one of the only birds that cannot fly into a comfortable extinction.

As you may have also heard, last summer, Brooklyn was burgeoned with a "raccoon invasion." Since ignorant city folk are somewhat similar to ignorant country folk, many Brooklynites wanted to shoot the critters with shotguns. Since ignorant city folk are somewhat different from ignorant country folk, the Brooklynites did not want to then eat them. I don’t think they wanted to make Davy Crockett hats, either, and I am not even sure if they knew what they would do with the shot raccoon corpses (these are the same people who call the office, freaking out if they happen to spot a smashed pigeon). Never mind where they would get the shotguns from in the first place. Since I work in local politics, we issued a release to help quell the masses, stating that raccoons are not creatures to fear and -- get this! -- if you leave them alone they will most likely leave you alone.

What a concept.

There was a hoopla for a while with people speculating that the raccoons would magically grow overnight, acquiring superhuman strength and break into their homes, snatching away their daughters or gouging out the eyes of their newborns.

In reality, the worst things raccoons do is root through garbage and wash their food before they eat it.

A possum scare also hit the borough in summers past. This one had the general public even more confused. Raccoons have their telltale masks, so people could pretty much figure out what they were. When reporting a possum, people initially thought they were naked mole rats or mutant cats. In either event, they didn’t let their kids go near them and again wanted to invest in shotguns. They were probably more scared of not knowing what they were (fear of the unknown) rather than of any damage the harmless creatures could actually cause, since possums are known as quiet marsupials who hide out in trees pretending they are dead (hence the term, playing possum).

This infiltration also caused controversy in literary circles, igniting a huge debate over whether "possums" and "opossums" were the same animal and, if so, what term is more acceptable in the world of academia.

All this said, perhaps it is better that groundhogs do not grow in Brooklyn. Think of the mass hysteria a groundhog invasion might cause (although people should at least know what the animal looks like from seeing the movie Caddyshack 602 times, or was that a gopher?). So we shall quietly wait for the Groundhog Day decision to come from Pennsylvania, the home of Punxsutawney Pete or Phil. Unless, of course, he has that horrible fate of dying on February 1st like the national groundhog did in Canada. They were in dire striates that year. For their weather forecast, they had to actually rely on (gasp!) the weatherman.

Happy Groundhog Day!