The Bullying Game

Well, I guess I can say I’ve gone through all the Stages of Loss and Grief in the last five days.

There was isolation, there was bargaining, there was depression, there was anger (oh, there was anger!) and I reached acceptance about 20 minutes ago.

I planned on writing a post this morning on compassion, as I reached acceptance while having breakfast. But that’ll have to wait because I’m afraid there was a new development (is that a redundancy, new development? like added bonus?).

Anyway, the redundant new development sent me back into depression, another little bit of bargaining (if only I had waited a little longer to release the two spayed females), lots of crying, an anxiety episode and lots of anger.

I had therapy/counselling today at 11 am. I was running late and only made to the bus stop when my counselor and I agree it was better to reschedule so I could have a full hour.

Decided to walk to the pharmacy to pick up my medication instead. When I came home, I found this on my door

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The Bullies Among Us

A friend of mine often says that no good deed goes unpunished.

I always laughed at this but this time around, as I am living it, all of a sudden it isn’t funny anymore.

Last night, I had to call the police for the first time of my adult life.

At 46 years old, I am being bullied by my next door neighbours.

Yesterday morning, I was woken up by my neighbour screaming angrily at my bedroom window. Not how one expects to start a Sunday morning. Only half awake, I managed to get that he was threatening to send any cat he found in his backyard to the pound. What the hell?, I thought.

I decided to get up and go to the window to see what the heck was going on. Jay -my orange tabby, followed me. I had a glimpse of the neighbour as he was turning around the farthest corner of his house with a cat carrier in his hands and then disappearing on the other side of the house for a moment. When he came back onto the deck, he saw me and Jay still at the window, being quite perplexed by his behaviour.

He looked at me then looked at Jay and said (yelled, rather): “Ah there’s that fucking red cat again. If I catch that fucking cat in my backyard, I’ll take him to the pound.” Then he turned around and went inside the house.

It was 7 am on Sunday, May the third. Continue reading