Any cat owner will tell you, whether you ask them or not, that their cat has at least one annoying habit. And for as many owners as you ask, you will get that many different answers. For instance, my cat Mofo will occasionally "mark her territory" on the linoleum just to the side of the commode in my office bathroom.

Of course, this is a problem. Urine is not a substance you want left on the floor for any measure of time, and this is doubly true for cat urine. The second it starts to dry, it becomes pungent and stinks up the place something awful. But there's a bigger problem - a meta problem, if you will - that occasionally occurs when this happens. Sometimes, she'll do this just moments before I feel nature's urge, and there is still a very-liquid puddle just to the side of the commode.... Where the right side of my trousers land once I drop them to do business of the second order.

The kitty piddle soaks up into them, as well as my undies and, if I've got socks on my feet (as I did this evening), it will wick into those as well. It's gross and its icky and no one in their right mind would pull these now-soaked garments up around their waist. And that's the only reason I'd entertain walking out of my bathroom nude from the waist down. And even then, I'd have to be absolutely certain that no one would be alarmed by my dangling participle, such as when no one is home... Or when it's 2:00AM and there shouldn't be anyone up and around.

And that was the case this very evening. I had cat-pee-soaked shorts and undies and socks, and I needed to replace them posthaste. My wife was sound asleep in our bedroom, and we had some folded laundry downstairs in the laundry room. I didn't want to disturb her, so I figured I'd just march down there clad only in a t-shirt and a smile, toss the soiled garments into the wash, and grab some fresh undies and shorts all in one trip. And given that it was 2:00AM, and given that by all rights and reason there shouldn't have been anyone even present, much less awake, to be startled by my partial nudity, I figured this would be an uneventful trip.

Boy was I wrong.

Now, the front of our house is arranged for maximum visibility - the dining room, entry foyer and library all connect without door frames, and all three share the front of the house as their back wall, filled with windows looking outward. And we live in a secluded enough area that we don't need drapes on the front windows - so we opt to go without, especially since we like the light during the daytime. Our stairs begin upward, turn 90 degrees hard left, and arrive on the 2nd floor with a railing and banister creating a hallway just to the right. And as I came down those stairs and I turned the quarter-circle at the mid-point where the stairs round the corner, I was shocked to see a man standing on my front porch.

I couldn't make out a face or any features - he was wearing a rain jacket with the hood up, and the porch light cast harsh shadows across his face. He'd just risen from, what I presume, was the door mat, where he was probably checking for a spare key. The only real description I can give you of this man is that he knew he shouldn't have been there. And I could tell that he knew he shouldn't have been there by the incredibly huge gap in his mouth as he looked up to find me, the owner of the house, standing just on the other side of the door at two in the goddamn morning. And for a moment, I swore the hands of time slowed to a crawl and I could see every wrinkle and curve of his mouth and chin they changed expressions from pure shock, to shock and surprise that I was there, to shock and surprise and mild disgust that I was there with no pants or underwear on.

He turned to run. Instinctively, I dropped my peed-upon pants and bolted for the door to give chase. I wasn't even cognisant that I was dangling free for the world to see - I'd just had my truck stolen out of my driveway not two months ago, and I wasn't about to stand for yet another liberty taken with our seclusion and comfort. I slammed open the padlock and yanked at the doorknob, and as I descended the stairs from my front porch, I realized I was standing on rain-soaked grass in my bare feet.

And then I started feeling the mist on my legs.

And then the damp humidity of the January air swirled in areas it shouldn't ever swirl.

It was then that another instinct overtook me - the immediate need to cover my private bits with my hands, like a soccer player guarding his most prized possessions during a free kick. I immediately grabbed my twig and berries and hobbled into the house, where I then sprinted for the phone. And just after I dialed 911, I put on some underwear and pants.

The police arrived and began taking my statement. While talking to them on the front porch, I bent down to re-enact how I saw the person on the other side of the door, and noticed some envelopes and a small box laying just beside the door. Upon inspection, they were all addressed to me (except for the one addressed to my wife Andrea). It was then that a light went off in my head.

In the 8 years I'd lived in this house, I've complained to the post office at least twice every one of those years. It seems our mail carrier can't tell the difference between the words "Woodville Lane" and "Creekbed Court" - and since there is a street number of 1233 on both roads, it's a crapshoot which street's mail you would get. And every two months or so, I'd get their mail and they'd get mine -- and while I wil drive by their house and place the mail in their mailbox, they just drive back to our cul-de-sac and place the mail on our front porch.

Exactly where I'd just found the envelopes and package.

In the 8 years this has been happening, I'd never met my neighbor at 1233 Creekbed Court. Andrea and I would just awaken to find mail on our front porch every few months, and I imagine he just found extra mail in his mailbox when he got off work. But I believe that, tonight, I met the man who lives at the same house number on a different street from mine... And I do believe he'll be using the mail box from now on.