I almost felt sorry for the Legal Aid lawyer. As she cross-examined me during our Jan. 5 eviction hearing, she asked about the feces found on the porch Dec. 5. (She did not ask about the feces found inside the house in October.)

“As I understand it the house is in a wilderness area. Would it not be possible that another animal could have deposited on the porch?”

“It’s a screened-in porch, ma’am.” I tried to keep my voice free of sarcasm.

Her face was a study in that moment. From behind her the guy I am trying to evict said, “It’s got a dog door.”

The lawyer made a quelling motion to him behind her back, but I couldn’t help myself. “The dog door is nailed shut.”

The lawyer blinked. I almost felt sorry for her.

He was evicted. Further, in an agreement our two lawyers cobbled together very quickly, he waived his right to an appeal in return for me not pursing monetary damages or a protective order.

Lest anyone think this “no money just go” deal is too soft on the guy, welcome to the joys of circuit court appeal. It cost me $1K to get a lawyer to run this eviction. It cost me $25 to file for the sheriff to attend the eviction on Jan. 16, assuming this guy stays that long. But circuit court would cost four times that, and we would do the whole thing again. In April or May, because that’s how far out it is to get on the circuit court docket. Meanwhile, he would continue living on my property.

My biggest fear was that he would be allowed to appeal without posting bond. In order to take a case from general to circuit court, you must pay a percentage of the costs that the general court found you liable for in the first place. But indigent people can request those be waived and appeal without costs. My attorney asked the judge not to waive them; the judge calculated what they would come to and he dude’s attorney said “Obviously he can’t pay that, which means you are limiting his rights to appeal.”

I will never know if this was part of his theatrical approach, or a moment of inspiration, but my attorney turned to me in a sudden movement. “Would you drop the protective order hearing and the costs if he waives appealing?”

“In a heartbeat,” I said without thinking. He rolled his eyes and turned back to the judge.

“I heard,” said the judge. Then he spoke to the Legal Aid lawyer. “Do you want to confer with your client?”

Ten minutes later, it was all over. So they tell me. At this point, I’ll believe it’s over when he is gone and the locks are changed.

But maybe, just maybe, this is the beginning of the ending of this all-too-common story about trying to evict someone? Time to start looking for the appropriate publisher.