Long time ago I had one of those “single property renovator man” types move in to replace the nice neighbor girl next door. You know, instantly they freshen up the backyard and put a dozen cameras all over the place.

We let my kitten out back at night for a little exploring. Walled back yard. Within a span of a few minutes found her dead by our sliding glass door with a head wound. We didn’t know what happened at the time. Too shocking to think straight.

But a few days later, the asshole is plinking beer cans in his backyard with some family members or something. Errant rounds are pinging off our windows and leaving rust stains in our pool.

We call the police because someone is discharging dangerous projectiles within city limits, at our house, and the lone, bothered, podgy lawman gives us the “Jus’ sum good ol’ boys, I asked them to take it easy.” routine.

I’m glad I never got this man’s actual name. I’m afraid of what I’d do with it now that we don’t live there anymore. I figure there’s nothing worse I could do to him than the pathetic existence he leads on his way to hell anyway.