Nutcracker Suite

To the neighbor whose lawn my cat desecrated while we were walking tonight....I am very sorry.

My cat never poops anywhere except in his litter box.

 I am aware now of the new reality, that instead of having a dog who never poops anywhere except her yard we have a large cat who likes to poop in others' yards. Yes, of course, I agree we need to start carrying grocery sacks to clean up after our cat. Yes, that would be the self-same cat who goes on walks with us each night.

I am sorry that we failed to carry a grocery sack with us this evening and believe me, I'm sorry I saw you go into your house in what I estimated was anger.
I'm sorry that I rang the bell and asked stupidly if you by chance had a bag we could use to clean up Pam's mess.
I'm sorry you took that tone with me.
I'm sorry you got upset.
I'm sorry that your nose is that color, almost an eggplant color, which comes from either too many late winter days on the slopes or too many late winter nights in the pub.

I'm sorry you had a Jesus fish nailed into the concrete next to your garage door.
That more than anything is what I most regret most of all.

No need to get so fierce, dude. It was an honest mistake. I had every intention of cleaning up after my cat.

I'm sorry that the poop was sort of runny.

You see, we've never had a cat before who follows us around the block. Crossing busy streets, scratching on the window at the local gas station two blocks away because he sees us in there and he wants to come in with our son. I think it's because we spent the first few weeks of his life believing he was a girl (hence his name: Pam). And like the Johnny Cash song, quite possibly naming a boy a girl's name can do a number on the male psyche. Make him feel insecure. Make him want to mark his territory. Makes him want to be with his people and see if we pick up another twee fat tomcat and turn him into another Sue or Harriet or Jane.

The adventures of pet ownership never seem to stop bringing people together. Or tearing neighborhoods apart. I have to walk by your house every day as we go to the neighborhood pool this summer. Let's not be mean to each other.

I'll be the bigger person, walk all the way back to my house and carry a grocery sack back, scraping the cat fecal matter off the lawn and walk back with said bag, crap in situ.

I guess it's better than me doing this:

The Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairies. 

All in all, lesson learned. Time to either start locking up the cats before nightly walk sessions, bringing bags for excrement with us, or starting dragging the cats on a leash. 

Suffice to say, after seeing what Pam unloaded on this man's lawn, I was duly impressed and grateful that this was not in their litter box at home.

Mercies abound.