He hollered again for his son, his dog, his cat. Even his voice had that guy-tenor thing going on.

It wasn’t as if she was going to do anything about it. She’d just really hoped to have a little old lady for a neighbor. Or a family with a half dozen kids and a harried-looking father with a paunch.

Beyond the living area was the kitchen with its fresh birch cabinets and wonderful bay window-partly why she’d fallen in love with the house. Right now, boxes were stacked there every which way. The kitten was on top of one. Amanda saw her neighbor swoop up Princess-who immediately curled up on his shoulder as if she’d finally found her Prince Charming. Of course, she should be happy. He’d saved her from the tomcat prowling around the boxes for her.

“I’ll take her,” Amanda told him. He promptly handed her over in a cloud of white cat hair, and she quickly carted Princess to the nearest bathroom and closed the door.

One cat safe, now just two dogs and two kids to catch.

The dogs had quit barking-which struck Amanda as an ominous sign. The sound of crying was another bad sign-she wasn’t sure which of their kids was unhappy, but the noise came from the second floor, where there were two bedrooms and a bath.

Amanda reacted to the crying first, took the stairs three at a time, and found her sweet, delicate daughter sitting on top of the neighbor boy, pretty much pounding on him. She was half his weight, but as Amanda knew, when her darling lost her temper, she seemed to gain the strength of Goliath. She pulled Molly off the boy, scolding her for hitting.

“Never hit,” Amanda said firmly. “You know better. No one hits in our house. Ever. If you have an argument you can’t solve, you come to me. But we don’t hit. Apologize right now.”

There followed a noisy dialogue of “But he…” and “She said it first…” and “No, it was him. I couldn’t help it…” and “You were the one who was mean, mean and mean.” Et cetera.