Jimmy Stewart in “Rear Window” has nothing on me except I don’t have a broken leg. When I’m not looking out the kitchen blinds at the pouring down rain, or the wind in the trees across the street, I’m checking out the comings and goings in the neighborhood.

Cabin fever, boredom, or whatever you want to call it, has set in.

It doesn’t help that the house cats keep beating me at playing a board game on the kitchen table.

The street is busy with traffic most days, mainly trucks. Most in the morning, some at noon, a few after 5 p.m. and many much later than that. I assume those guys work in the oilfield.

There are some who get home at 10:05 p.m. just like clockwork.

Then there’s the gal with long, dark hair who walks her dogs, or someone else’s dogs, every day. Even in bad weather. She always has them on a leash and is patient when they want to stop and sniff something.

The men mowing the green and growing grass over the weekend were like artists as they drove or pushed their mowers. They were in perfect step as they did the edging.

Children ride their bikes up and down the streets, and grandparents closely watch their little ones as they pedal or push their small, Barbie-like cars.

I don’t even look up from the game board any more to know when we’re getting our afternoon mail delivery. As soon as the neighbor’s dogs across the street start barking, that’s my cue to check the mail box.

Our street keeps other delivery people busy on an almost daily basis too.

The neighborhood cats are also great entertainment. Especially the one with a Siamese body and a run-of-the-mill Tabby face. She loves to sit under my car in the summer, and adores my patchy grass in the front yard when she wants a good back rub.

That cat can run like greased lightning when she’s being attacked by some momma and poppa robin red breasts. I watched one robin chase the cat out of our yard, then next door, then across the street. He or she meant business and must have a nest nearby. It’s probably in the side of my house where a nest of squirrels used to live before an air rifle scared them.

One of my favorite times when I look out the window is to see the boy across the street on a trampoline. It’s like watching a live Jack-in-the-box when his head pops up over tops of the family’s cars in the driveway.

That trampoline looks like so much fun, but I don’t want to try it and end up like Jimmy Stewart’s “Rear Window” character with a broken leg. It’s more fun to watch everyone out my Front Window while I play Wahoo with the cats, and use my vivid imagination to pretend I’m Jimmy’s 1954 co-star, Grace Kelly.

Stop laughing! I said I have a vivid imagination.