I’ve never been much of a gun guy.

After a sudden slip on my front lawn the other day, however, I may become one very soon. Because I wasn’t exactly slipping on my lawn, but rather the slick, brown substance that was stealthily sitting on top of the blades of grass, a mound no doubt produced by one of the 7,517 cats that, along with me, call Cherokee Bay home.

I just can’t figure out how it is that cats outnumber people in Cherokee Bay. Seriously, there must be a 5-to-1 cat-to-person ratio. Go ahead. Take a drive through the complex and you’ll find yourself tapping on the brakes a dozen or more times during a stretch of 300 feet just to avoid making speedbumps out of these frustrating felines.

Well, I’ve had it.

That slip on my front lawn the other day officially pushed me to the limits Michael Douglas’ character reached in the movie “Falling Down” … no pun intended.

It wasn’t the first fall. Matter of fact, my 9-year-old boy suffered a similar slip just a few weeks ago, when we were playing baseball in the front yard.

Another pile.

Another cat scurrying away.

The amazing part about this entire issue is this — these cats don’t belong to anybody. They don’t have owners. They come out of nowhere, no yards, no houses … nowhere. Thin air, maybe. And then, in a flash — after leaving their deposits — are gone. Vanished. Unaccountable.

Yes, 7,517 cats running throughout Cherokee Bay, crapping all over the place. It just doesn’t seem plausible that so many cats are homeless. But after the recent “slips” at the Walker household, my wife and I have asked neighbors throughout the development, “Is this your cat?”

The responses we’ve received sound as though they’ve come straight from a “Family Circus” comic strip.

There’s the common response: Notmine.

Followed by the turn-of-the-head, don’t-make-eye-contact: Minedidntdoit.

Compounded with: Idontownacat.

And, of course, the kicker: Itjustlookslikemycat.

Which has brought me to my response: Imgettingagun.

I may just purchase a freakin’ bazooka.

That’s right, bring on People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals (PETA) because I’ve had it!

Before everybody gets worked up, keep in mind I’m not looking to purchase an AK-47 or any sort of high-powered rifle. Not even the ever-popular Red Ryder BB gun, which is something one of my neighbors has resorted to. Just a little something that will leave a smattering of paint on the hindquarters’ of these cats. A paintball gun should do the trick. Consider it my own personal tracking device.

This might seem extreme, possibly even a bit crazy. I don’t care.

My wife and I have tried a litany of repellants to keep cats off our lawn, but nothing has worked.

Instead, the problem has simply gotten worse. One cat even urinated on our front door last summer … our front door for crying out loud! While I can applaud the cat’s raw athleticism, I can’t say I was too pleased with the fact that our living room possessed a rather pungent urine odor for weeks.

We’ve even called animal control, which was nice enough to point out that we can rent a trap from them. In addition, they will gladly accept any cat that we capture. Beautiful.

The way I see it, if that’s the way they want the cats, that’s how they’ll get ‘em. Because I’m planning a one-man, all-night stakeout real soon.

And by morning the following day, I hope to have about 7,000 paint-splattered cats on my lawn ready for transport.