Naked retaliation for my poor dead moles

My pizza has once again been ruined by my neighbor's wolf.  She refuses to keep her wolf in the house or even tie it up, claiming that to do so would go against the wolf's nature.  Well, my nature is to sit quietly watching television and eating the pizza I bought and paid for on my way home from work, not trying to fight off a hungry wolf and helplessly watching it devour my pizza on the lawn, dough and toppings ripped to shreds, sauce spilling into the snow like blood.

The wolf eats the pizza so quickly, I don't think it even enjoys the taste.

The problem is, you can't bring any food into the house at certain hours, when the wolf is stalking.  The wolf always seems to be stalking, is the problem.  Maybe when I'm at work, it curls up somewhere and goes to sleep, I don't know.  But by the time I get home, it's on alert, all skinny and twitchy, burning calories even as it stands, watching my car pull up the driveway...knowing I've got something it likes keeping warm in the passenger seat.

I've expended considerable time brainstorming possible solutions to the difficulties presented by this situation, to little avail.  If I had an attached garage, maybe.  I try to cut down the distance from car to home by parking in the bushes next to the front door, but the wolf always gets there, effortlessly gliding over the lawn, while I fumble with the pizza box and wrestle my keys out of my pocket.  And then it's just claws and teeth, and the wet cardboard being ripped out of my hands, and shredded pizza chunks falling to the lawn like leaves, and the wolf suddenly gone, leaving behind only a tomatoey mess.

Then, once it's fed, my neighbor lets the wolf inside.  I sit at the table and chew on whatever I can find, baby carrots rolled in breadcrumbs, and it sits at a large bay window and stares at me, like it can't rest until it's assured that my meal has been ruined.

The wolf is a miserable thing.  Who could love it?  Matted hair, marble-black eyes, just an assemblage of bone and tendons.  And the howling, at inconvenient hours.  What does it howl about?  The wolf has got it made -- a luxurious house (better than mine!) to return to, roaming the neighborhood whenever it wants, fresh pizza delivered nearly to its door every evening.

Of course, my neighbor, she argues I started all this.  With my moles.  I got some moles, as pets.  I've just always been enchanted with the mole.  And you can't keep moles inside, of course -- quite unlike wolves, which just walk around, and can do so outdoors or in, the moles have to burrow.  You know, I tried to make it work, I had them inside in a terrarium, but...they'd just dig in the few inches of dirt and press themselves up against the glass (or the plastic, it was a cheap terrarium).  So I let them outside, they were my outdoor moles.  They were much happier in the lawn, no one could deny that.  I'd go out at night and lay my ear on the dirt and hear them digging and clicking around, and occasionally one of them would pop up and I'd say hello and feed it a little nut or something.  But the moles would not contain themselves to just my yard.  They started burrowing into other lawns, creating unsightly tunnels and holes, and my neighbors got all upset.  I tried to show them that I was making an effort, I put up a fence.  When they came to my house with their complaints and their photos of ruined grass and flowers, I would say, look, look at the fence.  But they would just yell at me that the fences don't go underground, which I knew of course, but I guess I thought, I don't know, the moles would see it and...know...or, at least my neighbors would see, look, I'm trying to meet you halfway here, with the fence, let me keep my beloved moles.  But they gave me no credit for it.  They wouldn't understand, just kept with the yelling, and I had to say goodbye to my moles, well, they died in the winter, but --

And honestly, I didn't care about their lawns.  Let their gardens rot.  Their homes are nicer and bigger and better than mine.  I don't belong here, that's obvious to anyone who so much as drives slowly through our neighborhood.  The failure of my little house with its rotten siding and its peeling roof and its mole-chewed lawn announces itself -- the message reaches to the heavens.  So if I've been unable to lift myself up, and I have, then I'm glad to have dragged some others down with me.  I brought my moles home because I loved them, but if I'd gotten them specifically for a mission of sabotage and revenge, they could hardly have done a better job.

Anyway, it was around this time that my neighbor brought home the wolf.  I don't know if it was to hunt the moles, or just to hunt me and my pizzas.  That's the problem -- there's no fair fight.  They can always go further than me or you and do things like acquire wolves.

When the moles died, I thought it would be over, and my neighbor would fix her lawn and release the wolf into the woods or whatever, but it was more about hate than the offense, and she found that she liked it.  And so it goes on.  I've tried to apologize but she just closes the door in my face or sics her wolf on me.  She won't stop all this, it's clear, until I'm ground into dust.  But I am already dust, and I have been dust since long before she brought home her wolf, and her wolf can't starve or maul me, because I am dead, I'm dead I'm dead I'm dead.