Our local raccoons are frequent visitors. At this time of year they come by nightly. We've seen, on occasion, a mother raccoon and three of her  youngsters. Last year, early winter before hibernation all of them crowded onto the feeding platform at the front of the house that my husband keeps filled with birdseed and peanuts. That was during the night, when it was dark, though in winter it gets dark fairly early in the late afternoon.

Last year at this season we began to see those same juveniles ambling about during daylight hours. My husband thinks it's because they're hungry that these normally nocturnal creatures come out when it's light, but I think it's simply because they're confident and familiar. And they know where they will find treats. Raccoons are supremely adaptable, and they have become urban dwellers, easily searching out food sources to satisfy their needs.

We've seen them at dusk in Gatineau Park when we've been canoeing, at the shoreline picking among the mollusks that can be found, leaving piles of shells where they've parked themselves and held their evening feasts. We watched them amble leisurely along, unfazed by the presence of humans, just as on occasion we'd seen deer stretch themselves to temporarily lift on their hind legs to reach ripening apples on wild apple trees.

And over the years we've seen successions of raccoon families come and go. Occasionally surprising ourselves and them when we've seen an adult along with a little tribe of five or six little ones arranged on a tree limb, peering down at the strange creatures that lope along on two legs, so disadvantaged by nature.

Yesterday we were treated to the sight of one of the juveniles ensconcing himself in the late morning's bright light, within one of the composters. The lids are always left slightly ajar so they can easily set them aside to gain entry. And we regularly deposit kitchen waste about three times weekly in the composters, which they find compellingly attractive. So this little fellow was sitting on the pile within the composter, alert to our presence, but confidently continuing to eat away.

My husband places obstacles in the path of our two little dogs to ensure they don't poke around the composters, both to keep them from eating what they should not, and to make certain they don't experience any run-ins with raccoons, better adapted than they are in tooth and claw to self-protection.

We thought that surely Jack and Jill could smell the presence of the raccoon just a few feet from where they stood, but they gave no indication that they had and we imagine that's because the odour of raccoon is always pregnant on the air due to their constant forays in the backyard.

We watched the enterprising fellow for awhile, took a few photographs, then resumed what we were doing indoors. An hour or so later, there was that same -- or another -- raccoon at the front of the house, availing himself industriously of the new oiled black sunflower seeds my husband continues to put out for the birds and the squirrels. And there he remained for another half hour or so, until he was sated, before ambling off again.