Guess who's coming to dinner?

If only life were this civilized. Last night, while I was completing my assignment, there was quite a ruckus going on outside. I kept hearing banging and scratching and the sound of a car alarm going off. A couple of times, I even got up and looked out the window to see what was going on but it was dark and didn't see anything unusual. My racoon radar was on high as I suspected them trying to get into our green bins where we compost our perishables. At one point, I imagined the savvy little latch pickers trying to get into the window which frightened me to no end as I imagined the chaos that would ensue if they got in. I thought of turning the porch lights off and on to scare them or open the front door to shoo them away. Little did I know that the furry critters had gotten into one of our bins and were busy feasting on our compost just outside the front door.

When I left the house this morning, it looked as though our bin had exploded all over the front porch (what was left of it anyway). It sickened me to think of the crap they were munching on and nauseated me further as I looked at some of the scraps and evidence left behind. I'll bet there was a posse of them dining on our waste - digging in like it was Christmas dinner. I'm glad I didn't interrupt them. Who knows what might have happened...

For those of you that don't have this problem in your neck of the woods and have never had the pleasure of seeing these critters up close, you might be interested to learn that the raccoons here in Toronto are quite large. At least the ones that I've seen terrorizing the streets in my neighborhood. Some are as large as small dogs or fat cats. They're plump and crafty (not in the good way) and don't seem to be afraid of people. They're skillful at opening up the green bins and they are the worst dinner guests because they never clean up after themselves.

[Thinking about it now, I shudder at the thought of what might have happened if I had opened the door. I imagine them running into the vestibule at the front of the house and circling me or worse yet, pouncing on me as I opened the door and then scratching my eyes and face or biting me. Oh, the horrors! I hope they don't try to come back for seconds tonight. Greedy bastards!]