From my third floor studio bathroom I have a nice view of my neighbor Sonny’s yard, and can watch as he putters about. Retired, he has made home maintenance a fulltime job. What I want to do is catch him throwing dead mice over the fence. Stanley, who mows the lawn, finds two or three every week, as does Marjorie, who comes up on weekends, always in the same place. Sonny also tosses over the twigs from our birch tree that land on his lawn and occasionally big stones, which screw up Stanley’s lawnmower. I have fantasies about what I’ll say once I catch him like, “Hey, Sonny, were you a cat in a former life?” or “I really appreciate the rocks, because I can use them in my garden, but I’m not quite sure what to do with the dead mice,” however given that this is the same man who threatened to shoot Marjorie’s dogs if they barked, chances are I’ll say nothing. Last week, Stanley told me, Sonny was out with the leaf blower steadily blowing the leaves over the fence into our yard until he came to the end…and blew the rest into his nephew’s.