Format the following passage properly, for storytelling purposes.

One of the things I've come to realize in life is that no matter how kind you are, there will always be what I have come to affectionately call 'joy thieves'. No matter how much you keep to yourself and strive to stay out of trouble, sooner or later someone will set a course for wherever you lay your head to rest, knock on your door, and come to you with a grievance. Fortunately, it doesn't happen to me all that often, and of all the people I am currently surrounded by in my community I have only ever had issues with one neighbor--or to put it more accurately, she has issues with me. It all goes back to when my mother was alive, to a situation that in retrospect was quite petty and could have easily been resolved with a calm, rational discussion. For better or worse my mother had her share of trust issues with people, and had a skepticism--however healthy-- regarding her neighbors. It isn't a trait I inherited from her; by nature I tend to be more trusting, though it has been to my detriment more than my benefit several times over the years (most notably with the 'gypsy' I mentioned some time ago, to give him the bare amount of publicity needed to make a point and nothing more than he deserves). Apparently my mother had a problem with this neighbor parking too close to the white line and not leaving her enough space to comfortably open her doors, and it became an issue back in the summer of 2022, when my parents were both very sick. This was shortly after we had successfully brought my father back from the nursing home he was in for the first half of the year, and my mother had tasked me with retrieving both his walker and hers; by then, she was affected severely enough by her stage 4 terminal cancer that she couldn't walk long distances anymore, and routinely relied on wheelchairs and walkers to get herself around. Giving consideration to the proximity of my mother's car to this neighbor's vehicle, along with the size and shape of the walkers, I realized that it'd be a tight squeeze to try and reach in and get them. As I did not want to disturb them by knocking on the door and having them pull out and park somewhere else just so I could get the walkers, I decided to just open the door, reach in and pull them out while being as careful as possible not to scuff anything. Sadly, due to my girth and the fact that I had to reach into my mother's car to get the walkers--simply going around to the other side wasn't an option, as due to a failed theft attempt one of the handles had been broken off, which meant the ideal door that I would have normally opened to get them was unavailable to me, forcing me to use the only viable alternative--I accidentally left a scratch, a tiny one, on the neighbor's car. Looking back on it, the best thing to do, and the thing I should have done, was to knock on the neighbor's door and ask them to move their car. It would have been an inconvenience, for sure, but far better than putting myself in the position I ended up in (which included them calling the cops in what honestly seemed a bit extreme given the magnitude, or lack thereof, of the situation; of course this is not to excuse what happened, and I fully admit I was wrong to handle it the way I did). Ultimately, about a year later and not long after my parents had passed away, I apologized and offered to recompense the full amount she paid for the damages; she declined but was apparently quite grateful for the apology and offered her condolences. And from then on, all was peaceful, until last night. While settling into the events of the evening, such as serving Honey her dinner, watching some "Arthur" (not the movie starring Dudley Moore, but the PBS series; there are some things in life we will never truly outgrow) and emulating some arcade games in MAME ("Rastan" and "Strider" are two particular favorites of mine, and you may consider that an official endorsement), I hear a knock on my front door. As I had met with a friend the day prior to do some exercise together I got excited and initially presumed they were here, only to find out it was the neighbor--we will call her 'Yami', for clarification. She was asking if a certain trash can belonged to me; I had to explain that it belonged to the neighbors who lived one house down (to give some perspective, if you are standing in front of my house, Yami's house is immediately to the right, and the other neighbors' house is to the left). As it turns out, someone had stolen her trash can, and she took mine and tried to put it on her back screen porch. Apparently, without outright admitting it, she thought I may have stolen her can and tried to reclaim her 'rightful' property, and as I had not marked my can with my 483 house number (an oversight which has been rectified), she could have taken my can for herself and refused to give it back. Ultimately, she did return my can, and I subsequently wrote a letter of thanks which included my phone number (to spare her the inconvenience of physically walking to and knocking on my door), and a declaration of being a man who does not strive for disharmony with his neighbors. She apparently received the letter but has not yet called or texted my number, or offered an apology for her presumptions. The most humorous, and at once disappointing, aspect of the entire ordeal is that despite the fact I've lived in the community longer than she has, she apparently never noticed that since moving in almost twenty years ago, I've always put my garbage can on the left-hand side of an oak tree that is nowhere near where she routinely puts hers. It benefits me nothing to steal from her, even if she had something I wanted (which she doesn't). At the same time, if someone did steal her can, I'm sorry and hope all will be well. Hopefully she'll have sense enough to mark her own can.