Cats and crotchety old men

I was sitting outside petting the stray cat yesterday when the neighbour and wife (apartment directly across the way) pulled up.

Old man: Is he crapping? (pointing to my cat sitting in his front yard)
Me: No, he's just sitting in the sun.

Ensued a long (too long for me, anyway) but fairly civilized discussion about cats in other peoples' yards, my habits and responsibility as a cat owner, the number of cats in the vicinity at night or in the winter, and much more. I held my sarcastic tongue well in check -- mainly because I was too tired to get myself worked up.

I grumbled to myself for about 15 minutes afterward, then deliberately put it out of my mind as too petty to waste energy on.

This morning, I let Mikey outside. Mikey's the wanderer, the hunter, the "free spirit" as my Teen calls him.

When he came back in a couple of hours later, he went...

... straight to the litter box.

Oh, how I praised him!

See, Old Man thinks Mikey might be "crapping" in his garden and elsewhere. At the very least, some cat is knocking over his small lawn ornaments.

So when Old Man drove up, I made a point of stepping outside to tell him my cat had come in and done his business in the box. He just grunted at first. Then he mentioned the complaints from the guy who set up a horseshoes game on the side lawn. Said game has, as usual, two sandpits on either end.

That was easy. Mr. Horseshoes has already told me he keeps catching neighbour Sophie's cat crapping there. Because Sophie goes to work at 7:40 a.m. and leaves her cat outside until 3:30 p.m. every day. Cat's gotta go somewhere, right?

Anyway, long story shortened just a tad, I think I have appeased Old Man with regard to my animal.

Friend B. asked me why I felt the need to answer or explain at all.

I just do. Why not defend myself? To not do so would simply encourage more sniping and gossiping behind my back.

This is tiring shit, though.