Ah, the cat stealer…

We had a cat named Donovan and a neighbor lady named ‘Susan’. She was single, in her 50’s, had a huge beautiful garden and seemed rather nice.

One summer, we were going on vacation for a week. We asked if she would look after the cat while we were gone. She enthusiastically said yes, and offered to have our cat stay at her house so it wouldn’t get bored/lonely.

How sweet of her!

We left on vacation, and had a grand old time.

When we got back from vacation, my mom went to pick up our cat and….
that’s when the crazy started.

The woman was bawling her eyes out as she handed our cat back.

Full on weeping. After knowing it for a week.

She kept saying “Goodbye Kitty! Bye my Donovan, momma’s gonna miss you!”

My mom was a bit freaked out, but she thanked her, paid her and came home.

A few days later, I had woken up around 8 AM and was peering out my window when I saw a shape moving in the fog, coming towards our back door.

It was the neighbor lady, walking across the full acre that separated our houses.
She was wearing her nightgown and curlers still.

I was trying to figure out if maybe she needed help or was hurt or something, when I heard knocking on the back door and the woman saying “Here kitty kitty!!”

I walked to the back door and opened it and she said, “I’m so sorry! I just need to see my baby! Where’s my baby?!”

I was very confused and asked her if everything was ok, or if she needed help.

She didn’t answer me, she just started calling out- into my house!- “Donovan! Here kitty kitty! Where’s my little boy?”

When the cat sauntered over, she was elated. I picked up MY cat, and let her pet him for a minute before saying “I think you should go, I have chores to do.”

When my parents came home, I told them about it and they said to ignore her if it happened again. It was all very, very strange.

Then, one day, we had let our cat out for a while (it was an indoor/outdoor cat) and when we called him to come in, he didn’t come. We checked all the places he usually lounged, and he was nowhere to be found. We searched for hours.

Finally, after a day of searching, my dad said, “Oh my god. Susan! Could she…?”

My parents quickly went over there to ask if she had seen the cat, and Susan vehemently denied knowing anything about where our cat was.
She was visibly angry about being asked, and then offered up “What do you think? That I stole him?!”

(Nobody had accused her of anything at this point, by the way.
He just said, “Hey have you seen our black cat, Donovan, anywhere today?”)

Then my mom started calling his name and whistling for him and before Susan could get the door slammed, he strolled to the door from somewhere inside the house and greeted my mom with a “Meow?”

My mom was PISSED. She started yelling about “If you ever steal our cat again…!” and “I ought to call the police!” and left.

He was an indoor cat for the next few months, until we moved again.

When I was 24, myself and my 20 month old son moved into a 3 bedroom private rented property. The neighbours all seemed a bit reserved so I hadn't really met any of them, but I thought nothing of it and we went about our daily lives, me working and volunteering for a local charity and my son going to nursery.

4 months later, on the August Bank Holiday Sunday, I put my son to bed. He was a terrible sleeper and would tantrum like nothing you'd ever seen before, but as advised by the Health Visitor, I would stand my ground and let him cry it out, checking on him silently every few minutes until he gave up and fell to sleep.

This particular evening it was 7pm when I put him to bed and shortly after, while he was crying and screaming, there was a knock on my door. I opened it to be confronted by a man telling me he was my neighbour and that he worked for Social Services. He said my son had been crying and screaming since 6am and he wanted to come in and check he was OK. I didn't recognise him and along with the fact I volunteered supporting families with Social Care involvement, knew that my son would only cry and scream even longer if anyone was to go up and see him. That morning had also been the first time in weeks my son had slept in til later than 7am and we hadn't been home all day.

I refused, telling the man to come back tomorrow with the police and went inside. I sobbed at the thought anyone would think I would harm my son and rang my cousin. She told me Social Services wouldn't turn up like that without ID and would have police with them if they wanted to come in. So I called 101 and a police officer arrived within minutes. They believed this man would have been watching my house, knowing I was a young single mum and would have used the opportunity to burgle my house or harm me and my son.

For weeks I was scared to leave the house. I set up a Facebook group warning other parents of this situation, knowing that others may not have turned him away. The local newspaper then got in touch and ran the story front page.

A couple of days later a policeman arrived to tell me that the man had contacted them. He was indeed a neighbour but didn't work for Social Services so he was given a warning. However, he did teach Social Work at the local University so should have known better! They told me he told them my son “would end up like Baby P” (for those who don't know, Baby P was a toddler who was abused by his mum and stepdad until he died). He also said he would be saying “I told you so” when this happened.

They couldn't tell me which house he lived in but reassured me they knew I was doing nothing to harm my son and he had been told to stay away from me.

Another month on from this, so probably 3 months after the incident, I saw him staring at my house from his garden. My garden backed onto his. It wasn't long after that that I met a few of my other neighbours and got to know them. Turned out he told everyone in the area that I was abusing my son, and it wasn't until they saw for themselves that he was happy and healthy that they began saying hello and getting to know me.

To target a young, first time, single mother like that is atrocious. I moved out 2 years later once I felt I couldn't even sit in my garden without him watching us.

My son is now almost 13, taller than me and such a respectful and well behaved young man. His little sister is almost 10, sassy, clever and has Autism. Her tantrums are much worse than his ever were. But my neighbours here are all lovely and understanding thank goodness!!

My horrible. racist neighbors are unforgettable. Though I seldom spoke to them, somehow when we spoke they found ways to talk about their disdain for Mexican immigrants. For example: they couldn't go to a popular grocery "because of the Mexicans." Trust me, I wasn't mentioning Mexicans or any other race to them. Very odd.

One fall a section of my wooden privacy fence fell down into their yard. We managed to wrestle it back into my yard, but I needed to find someone who could reinstall it in concrete before the ground froze. I couldn't find anyone to do the task so asked a friend knowledgeable about construction, if he could find someone and added that I was happy to pay.

Imagine my delight when I returned from work one day to find a small group of Latinos in the yard installing the fence. My fence had become a training session for a group of student carpenters.

I moved next door to a guy called Dave. He lived alone with his 4 rescue dogs.

Dave was very welcoming. He knocked to my house the day we moved in and gave me a bottle of wine as a gift and introduced himself. I liked Dave from that moment.

Dave had disabilities so had a disabled car speck outside of his house. The parking in that street was a nightmare and had a huge impact on our decision to move. I will get to why this is important soon.

There was an old couple called Mr and Mrs Love (how cute?) Lovely old dears. They stopped to say hi one day whilst I was painting my front wall. Mrs Love told me to be careful of Dave. Apparently he was an awful man who complains and fights with all the neighbors. He would call the police for no good reason and he was cruel to his dogs.

Ok, Wow!

The woman across the street told me he was a p***phile who took videos from his bedroom of kids playing.

Another told me he called child protection on them for abusing their kids.

He shot next door but one’s cat with a pellet gun because it was in his garden, one of them said.

So, Dave was not a popular chap!

I'm not one for gossip but it's hard not to be wary when all your neighbors are telling you that the antichrist is living next door.

When my dog had puppies, Dave gave me his number and told me to call him any time, day or night, if I needed help. He was slightly deaf and didn't always hear the door bell.

Dave let me use the shared entry that was also his to store some things that I had no space for.

Dave fed my cat when I went away.

Dave never complained when my teenage son and his friends were rowdy.

Dave told me he was leaving his home to the Dogs Trust upon his death, in return for them to take his dogs and rehome them.

Dave looked after my dogs when I was going through something and wasn't home a lot. He never pried. He just supported me by being there.

Dave cried when I gave him a Christmas card. He never had one before from a neighbor.

Dave helped me move to my new house which wasn't far away, by bringing bits around that I forgot when the movers came.

The parking spot was the reason that the neighbors started a witch hunt for Dave. They said he scammed the council and wasn't really ill. Dave got something that they wanted. They didn't like it. Dave had cancer by the way. Nobody cared to ask. It was easier to start a hate campaign. It took one neighbor to tell an exaggerated story and begin the snowball effect that had Dave labelled as a pariah.

I still see Dave.

The other neighbors, I walk past them if I see them around. All of them are the worst neighbors I ever had.

I hope the couple who moved in to my house appreciate how lucky they are to have Dave next door.