In the covert underworld of suburbia, the urban coyote is less apex predator, more fuzzy ninja. By day, they masquerade as shaggy lawn ornaments, but come dusk, they’re ghosting through alleyways like Yelp-savvy bandits sniffing out discarded pizza crusts. They’ve mastered the art of casual strutting—tail low, eyes suspiciously unbothered—like they’re late for a PTA meeting in a neighborhood they definitely don’t pay taxes in. And heaven help you if you're a cat with attitude or a trash bin without a lock. These whiskered marauders are the real homeowners association...you just don’t know it yet. It's like if David Lynch directed a local HOA meeting and coyotes showed up in trench coats.