Cat Burglar

Burglaries were way up, no pun intended. The elite neighborhood of Marston was “the” place to live, if you had the money and wherewithal to afford the sky high, pun intended, rent. Rents could easily soar, pun intended, from $5,000 a month for a studio apartment to a cool million dollars a month to the penthouse with all amenities included, of course. 

Who would pay a million dollars a month and not expect their house plants to be watered every other day, right?

It seemed the burglaries were all concentrated now on the high end, pun intended, of the luxury apartment buildings. That’s where all the jewels, gold coins, bullion, one-of-a-kind paintings, and cash all could be found.

The residents were the highest of the high, pun intended, in the real estate market - Wall Street brokers, jewelry dealers, luxury car salesmen, CEO’s, international oil tycoons and foreign sheiks who all had one thing in common: they had more money than common sense.

The rest of us just don’t get it. We’re the “little people” that work hard all our lives and will never be able to afford, much less live, in a penthouse in a neighborhood like Marston.

That’s where I come in. I’m a cat burglar. I have worked my up, pun intended, from petty larceny, such as snatching small change from the change box at the neighborhood newspaper stand to pilfering $20 bills from the apron of the local sidewalk hot dog vendor.

That just wasn’t cutting it for me. I needed, no I wanted, more. So I knew I needed to set my sights on a bigger prize.

I soon figured out how to enter the apartment buildings at the lower levels to perfect my craft. Slipping in unnoticed onto the elevator, for example, or slinking in through an open or unlocked window soon became my go-to entrance to the hallways of the lower end apartments.

I was very ordinary looking. No one really took notice of me. A local like me could get in, no problem. I would loiter in the hallway or stair well at the end of the work day until the working stiffs would shuffle in from their long hard day.   

I would noiselessly follow them to their apartment. Inevitably, their arms were loaded down with workplace items, such as a briefcase, a handbag, an umbrella and a bag of groceries. After they fumbled for their keys and as they struggled to open their door without dropping everything they were carrying, I would slip in! 

I made myself very small and lithe. They were so distracted by the pyramid of paraphernalia in their arms that they never even noticed me infiltrate their private little world.

My take usually consisted of not more than a few trinkets and baubles. Hardly worth the effort, I thought. I need to “up” my game, pun intended, I thought to myself.

That was then, this is now. I am in the big leagues, with all its glitter and glamour and riches beyond compare.

These fabulous penthouses were just as easy to slip into and out of as the lower end apartments were. Actually they were easier.

The penthouse apartments had their own elevator entrance – which opened right into those luxe apartments.

Since the penthouse owner was usually a high level, pun intended, executive, he or she always worked late and was not very attentive to what was going on around them. 

I would watch for the resident to enter the elevator at the parking garage level and making myself as small as possible, I would slip into the elevator with him or her totally unnoticed.

They would use their key to take their personal elevator right to their luxury apartment and “voila!” the door opened right into that wonderland of opulence and dare I say, nirvana!

I found I could scurry in to the master bedroom, locate an oversized jewelry box and gather what I could and escape with a small amount of luxury items in less than five minutes.

My last “take,” for example, was $160,000 in diamond and ruby jewelry. The necklace and matching earrings were a loving gift for the Mrs. living in the penthouse of one of the 40 luxury apartments in the Marston district.

Oh, the jewelry was gorgeous! Eye-popping, actually. Ooh, the sparkle and glitter were almost too much!

This world of riches was worth the time it took to enter and the peril of being caught. I was in my element. No more weenie vendors or penny ante newspaper stand change boxes for me! I would never look back.

This was my little playground now.

One night, as I was executing my now well-oiled plan of entering my fifth luxury penthouse, I failed to notice a dark clothed figure loitering in the shadows of the parking garage.

I easily slid into the penthouse resident’s elevator and we were on that sky-high, pun intended, ride to the top. I was envisioning all the riches and luxury that penthouse held just for me.

I slipped into the penthouse and went straight to the master bedroom. There I quickly located a glimmering oversized and opulent pink jewelry box brimming with gold baubles, bangles and beads! As I picked through this treasure trove of adornments, I was too busy perusing the items, that I didn’t notice the dark clothed figure silently enter the bedroom behind me.

He had a gun pointed at my back and ordered me to drop the booty I had accumulated thus far.

“Drop that jewelry or I’ll shoot you!” the dark clothed man ordered.

“Oh no,” I thought. “How the heck did this happen? How did I not notice him? You’ve gotten a little too smug with yourself,” I chided myself. “You’ve been caught,” I thought to myself.

“I’ve come too far and sacrificed way too much to get caught now. Maybe I can get out of this,” I thought.

 So I turned to face the dark clothed man and when I refused to drop my ill-gotten gains, he reminded me that it was in my best interest to release the goods now – or else.

I did something stupid – eschewing my fear, I lunged forward and the dark clothed man fired one shot. It hit me right in the midsection. I dropped to my knees. 

He killed me – sort of. The dark clothed man came over and checked the status of my health, which unfortunately at the moment, was quite dead. No pulse. No heartbeat. No movement. No life.

He hurried out of the room to tell the resident what had happened and to call the EMT’s to take my body away.

I took that moment to turn into my other self. I morphed into an everyday, ordinary orange and white tiger cat. 

After a few minutes, the dark clothed man came back into the bedroom and did not see anything. No body. No blood. No nothing.

“What the…” the dark clothed man said. “She was right here. The body was right here. I shot her. She was dead! I saw her with my own eyes!”

At that moment, the resident and the dark clothed man caught sight of an everyday, ordinary orange and white tiger cat sauntering out of the bedroom towards the open window of the penthouse apartment.

“Is that your cat?” the dark clothed man said.

“No! I don’t own a cat! Maybe she slipped in when I left the elevator open downstairs while I was digging for my keys,” said the resident. 

And with that, the everyday, ordinary orange and white tiger cat jumped up on the window sill and prepared to walk out onto the ledge and away from the penthouse and down the side of the building. 

The police arrived quickly and the resident and the dark clothed man both testified to the uniformed police officer - who showed up when a nearby resident called saying they heard a gunshot - that there had been a female burglar stealing jewelry and the dark clothed man shot her dead.  

“And the body was right in there!” declared the dark clothed man.

Then suddenly they turned to the window when they all heard what sounded like a female voice softly purr, “You know a cat has nine lives, right?”