We suspect it was Sex Offender Steve who, for whatever reason, decided it now belongs to him. It was one of the few things we told him to leave alone but he has quite a distorted sense of what's his and what's ours. The things we asked him to leave alone he didn't, just proceeded as he pleased with no consideration for how we felt.
Here's what we told him to leave alone:
I lost it, I'm not proud. But living above this guy has me in a state most of the time now. I'm nervous in case one of the local plebs decides to exact some justice, I hate him and the very sight makes me feel ill.
A long time ago the Mr. said he could use our yard. As a result his DIY stuff is all over the place, like everywhere you look is a piece of wood or a tool of some kind. So now our little table is gone, I decided he can't use our yard anymore and tossed as much as I could manage back over the fence.
It's stupid, but the picnic table was the last straw. We hadn't done anything to him. We haven't done anything to deserve having our things stolen. But he did it anyway.
I guess 16 years inside doesn't teach you how to live with other people.
After my fit of 'get out!' we went to bed where I tried my best to fall asleep.
But that dream soon evaporated, within about 10-15 minutes I heard car doors slam. He called the police.
They came around and talked to us. I told them I was upset about our little table being stolen and Sex Offender Steve had stolen things from us before. They asked about how the yards are divided and I explained the back bit was ours. They seemed satisfied and left (after laughing when I burst into tears and apologized as I'd drunk too much gin.)
I slept poorly on Sunday. I'm so anxious, so angry, so drained, so frustrated. I hate this so much. This is my home. It's horrible, but it's mine.