Pat the Rat is in the wind.  I could care less.  All I know is, when I'm sitting in my garage in my comfortable chair, smoking a good cigar and drinking coffee or a cold beer, I no longer have to watch his pitiful ass tottering toward his magenta truck to do his daily rounds.

The paint store guy who wanted to be a spy.  He should have stuck to paint.

He's gone.  Not that it matters, because his ass was in the breeze when he first began lying to me, and I hung around for a while and watched the show.  Maybe the old lady decided he is more trouble than he is worth. Good decision, if she made it.

I am no threat to her or hers.  But her pitiful husband has brought some very heavy shit down upon that household.  I doubt if she was complicit. But I will never know.

Let's just hope the piece of shit stays gone.  Life is much easier around here  without looking at that turd.

When someone starts out, unprovoked, to destroy you, it is difficult to remain benign.  But I have.

My life isn't worth any of the lives of these treacherous scumbags I call neighbors who turned against me with no explainable reason.

So I wait and watch and pass each day one day at a time.  It's like being cast into a C-grade low-budget movie that you have no interest in.