Old lady Tabatha has been living on this street ever since she was a small girl. Her father bought the house she was living in now. She inherited the house after her parents passing. Her neighbors always thought that it was such a sad waste that no man was fit worthy enough to make her their wife. She was, after all, the sweetest and most considerate old lady living on that street.
Tabatha’s renowned sweetness, and her incredible hospitality, remained intact even when her uncultured new neighbors moved in. On many occasions, she had asked them, in the most polite of ways that she knew, not to throw such loud children’s parties. She ask them to keep their garden clean, she even offered to help. And then their was their dogs, she pleaded with them to keep it out of her flowerbeds, a beauty she spent years to cultivate only to be destroyed in one single afternoon.
They never listened to her, ignored her like the ‘crazy old lady next door’ they thought her to be. The other neighbors on the street tried to reason with them on Tabatha’s behalf, but the parties were still held, their garden still a mess, and their dogs still made her flowerbed their playground.
The whole street was gathered one early morning. Tabatha went out to investigate. “Their dogs are missing,” one of the neighbors informed her. She kindly volunteered to clean up the garden and help search for the missing dogs. It took a lot of will power for her not to let out a smile. Even though she knows exactly where the dogs are buried, she isn’t telling.
I wonder when they’ll notice that their children are missing as well, Tabatha thought to herself, bursting with laughter on the inside.