Hi, Neighbor!

In the past two months, these two houses across the street went up for sale. Both houses were snatched right up by young couples (gee, wonder if they paid too much?) and they both moved in within a few weeks of each other. I don't know that they are swingers, but it sure looks like it. I know that they have at least made fast friends. They seem to chat it up quite a bit. We, on the other hand, haven't even introduced ourselves yet. I had plans to do that, but they got a little sidetracked.

Look. There she is. She's out there raking. Go introduce yourself. Don't just take her frickin' picture, you creep. Go say "Hi." Wait... Is that Monica Lewinski? What the... That's the same hair, the same build, the same affinity for black wardrobe and its slimming effects. And you're embarrassed to admit it, but that excites you a little. Doesn't it?


No, you can't get the full Lewinsky effect from here. That'd involve getting close enough for an introduction, and here's the problem with that.

Just a few days after this couple moved in, someone comes knocking at our house. I open the door and a cat runs in. The person at the door makes a "Guess the cat wants back in" type comment. I say, "We don't have a cat", dispense with the door dude, and chase kitty around the living room for the next couple of minutes. Ok. Fine. Kitty just needs to get her bearings - learn the lay of the land.

Oh, look! There's kitty now. Looks like kitty found a squirrel.


Get him, kitty! Rip that thing apart. Then go home and let mommy kiss you on the nose.


Anyway a few days after this neighbor's pet introduced herself to us, my kid is playing outside and notices the cat hanging out in the yard again. Still seems that kitty enjoys our place a bit more than its very own new home.

So, thinking it might be best to nip this in the bud, my kid decides to shoo kitty back home. The Lewinsky's were none too pleased by the site of this and... well, I haven't met him, so I'll call him "Carl" Lewinsky shouts over, "Why are you chasing the CAT!!?" My daughter, not really intimidated by the assholyness of this act, replies somewhat innocently, "It was in our yard." Monica walks to the curb and strikes a pose that involves shifting her formidable weight toward one hip. If a drummer were nearby, you would've heard "buh-BOOM!" as she locked in. Then she snapped a Z, turned on her heel, and went back to polishing the turd that is their new house. (I made up the part about snapping a Z. Really she just stuck her arm out at a sort of, "What the hell" angle.)

Hey, more power to those kids. Hope it all works out for them across the street. I'm not going to make enemies out of my neighbors. I'll just write about it. Do I care that the cat is in my yard? Not really. I shoo it when I see it, and I'll probably end up shooing it into the road at some point, where it'll get flattened. Then I'll meet them for sure.

Probably.