Burgler

The alarm never rang. Like a sentry guarding the front door, a sign announced, "WARNING! These premises are safe-guarded by Shepherd Security Systems."  A caricature of a ferocious German shepherd snarled out from above the warning, but...the alarm never rang.

            Tom spent the last two weeks casing the place, looking for a weak spot in its defenses. Under cover of darkness, he watched from behind trees surrounding the three story mansion. His mouth salivated with thoughts of the delights that awaited him within. Breaking and entering comprised the major part of his life. He had learned it from his peers growing up in the back alleys of Carlton. Occasionally they’d get caught, but most managed to escape punishment.

            Adopted as a baby, Tom had little supervision during his formative years. Living in a permissive household, and although loved, they ignored him much of the time. Everyone in the house seemed too busy with jobs, school and socializing to pay much attention to him. No wonder he turned to his peers for companionship. They taught him the ropes including patience in prospecting for a profitable break in.

            "Look the place over first. Watch for empty houses. One whose owners are gone a lot." his friends and mentors said.

            And this mansion fit the bill. He watched the owners load their luggage into a Mercedes and drive off, leaving their house in the hands of the Shepherd Security System and the likeness of that miserable, snarling dog on the sign. From his vantage point behind the trees, Tom saw a small round window in the eave. It resembled a ship's porthole and it angled slightly inward allowing air into the attic space...a weak link in security.

            With an athlete’s grace, he scaled the fence, sprinted across the yard and climbed the lattice adornment that framed the porch and led to the roof. He crouched at the porthole window in two minutes, twenty four seconds.

            Too narrow to admit one of average size, the window was left unwired to the Security system. With his small stature and agile movements, Tom easily gained access. He wriggled through the tight opening into the mansion. Slowly, he turned his head, listening for signs of life. He heard only the hum of the refrigerator and tick-tock of the hall clock. Gingerly, Tom crept down the stairs to the second floor master bedroom.

            What's that? He heard the crunch of tires on the gravel driveway.

            The owners! They're back! I have to hide. Where? Under the bed. No. There's no room.

            Behind the T.V. No. I'll be seen. The closet. Yes, the closet.

            He heard footsteps coming up the stairs. As the bedroom door opened, he dove into the closet. High heels clicked across the hardwood floor, advancing closer. The closet door jerked open. Tom cowered.

The owner screamed.

"George, there's a stray cat in our closet."