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Below is a letter I faxed to the Real Estate Council on May 15th.  The letters which were enclosed appear in my journal and were included in emails to you.  How can these regulatory agencies pretend that nothing illegal is going on in this condominium?  Why doesn't the RCMP just let me escape to a peaceful life in the suburbs?

Today is the beginning of Canadian summer but it is raining and the temperature is around 15 C. or 60 F., and I am actually cooking beef and barley soup which I have been craving for a while.  I got to sit in the sun on Friday without my neighbours upstairs throwing dirt and noxious inhalant down upon me.  Friday, Saturday, and Sunday were sunny and in the 80's, and I heard both a meteorologist and a newscaster mention a heat wave.  Obviously they have never experienced a week of 101 degrees with 80% humidity in NYC.  Even when there wasn't a heat wave, on summer days before the subway cars were air-conditioned, people used to open the car windows and let the dirt and grime whip around the train.  My first duty on arriving at work was to wash the caked black soot and perspiration off my arms and legs.  And we were packed so tightly in those trains that I wasn't sure that the perspiration was all mine.

I stayed in over this long weekend as I wrote that I would.  Tomorrow and Wednesday I will go out and give the city police an opportunity to stop me on the road on some specious pretext, and allow the RCMP to put some elaborate entrapment attempt into play in a store.  I simply will never behave as they wish, no matter what.  They will have to suborn perjury from witnesses if police want to take me into custody.  I look forward to serious grocery shopping, which I love, and I want to buy myself some summer stay-at-home clothes, since police activities force me to spend so much time in the apartment.

There was another police attempt to get a neighbour into my home on Saturday.  At 10 am, while I had my patio door open, a bare-chested man (people should wear clothes) came into the backyard with a lot of noise and talking to his wife (?) who then left, slammed the outside door to the garage several times, and began to prune the shrubs against the back fence.  On a holiday weekend, while people were still sleeping?  I think it was the man from 2xx who spoke to me once about plugging in an edger after he yelled four letter words because a wasp had stung him.  He wasn't out there very long when Bxxxxxx Xxxxxx showed up, she who is always willing to do police bidding.  He began to talk loudly about having the secateurs sharpened, and then expressed his desire to prune plants for Bxxxxxx or anyone else.  Then a quiet space.  Then they repeated the performance.  I still didn't bite, so he was gone from the yard immediately.

As usual, police got it wrong.  Yes, I have written several times that my plants badly need pruning, but I wouldn't let anyone else trim my plants.  I love to work with the plants.  I haven't done it because it isn't safe for me to go in the backyard.  I have to throw the pruned branches over my patio fence, and then drag them through the back yard to the lane.  My past experience has taught me that going in the back yard means that my neighbours will try to engage me in an argument there, or will otherwise attempt to entrap me.

Did police truly think that I would invite that shirtless man through my apartment onto the patio in order to examine my plants?  Why are they always trying to get someone into my apartment?  What would that man have said or done if he had gained entrance to my home?  Why are the police so sure that they will be able to remove me into custody if one of their minions actually get inside?  Would that person try to provoke me?  What lies would that person allege about me?

I won't bore you with a continuing description of the staggering noxious inhalant which is being released by police into my apartment.  But if I should have a heart attack or stroke, or suffocate because my throat filled with hives, don't believe that there were natural causes.  The noise and activity level around and in this building is either (and nothing in between) filled with lulling activities, or calculated to annoy me and make me irritable depending on what police have in mind at that moment .  I think that when I placidly go about my day and evening, no matter what police do, that they sometimes abandon plans which clearly won't work unless I'm in a temper.

I never received an invitation to my class reunion, although I sent postcards to two people on the reunion committee to be sure that they had my current address.  I noticed an obituary on the internet the other day which caused me to send a mass card to an old friend.  Whenever I write any personal mail, I worry that the RCMP or the U.S. security agency will intercept it and alter it.

Trixie's babies are wonderful.  They are starting to elongate a little now, and are no longer just butterballs.  They are quite tame and will be easily adoptable.  How beautiful they are.

Cats are crazy about Temptation Treats as illustrated by those frequent television ads of cats breaking through walls or leaping up to the second floor balcony.  Louie-Louie is fixated on them, and every time I go into the kitchen, he follows me and makes a little sound while staring at the cupboard which contains the Temptations. The other night, Louie wouldn't come in at bedtime, so I went out on the patio with a bag of treats.  The two-legged raccoon was there (I give her dry cat food when I see her) and she always backs away from me.  When I shook the temptations, she came hobbling over to me (her left front leg is missing at the shoulder, and her left rear leg is amputated at the knee) and touched me.  I tried to put some treats down for her and she was so anxious for them that she ate them out of my hand.  I couldn't believe it - she is always so cautious.  What's in Temptations?  Other cat treats don't elicit that sort of behaviour from animals.

I'm going to work on my soup now.  I think I will bake apples, too.  Wish me luck while I'm out in the community this week.

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