To the chaps who broke into our ‘secure’ townhouse and robbed us in the wee hours last Saturday, my sincere thanks for not waking us up.
You probably all had a good chortle at our snoring, but I sincerely hope we didn’t embarrass you with our drooling.
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The first we knew of your ‘visit’ was when my wife went through to the living area at sunrise and then all hell broke loose.
“We’ve been $#$%!!! robbed,” I think were her exact screams.
Dash to lounge to see empty TV cabinet… dash back to bedroom to get cellphone…
Alas, you chaps had already been there too.
There are many ‘statistics’ like us in this country. However, just in case someone has not been a victim of crime yet (highly unlikely), one harsh lesson we learned from our traumatic experience:
Cats do not make good guard pets.
My daughter was away for the night (thankfully) and her cat, Nincompoop (don’t ask), woke my wife up with a face-lick. The girls cooed: “Nincs was actually trying to warn us!”
Closer to reality was probably: “Where’s my breakfast?” In fact, that darned cat was aiding and abetting in my book. We leave a small window open for him at night and the burglars used a bolt cutter to get through the bars.
Am I angry? Yes. There are many bad people from all walks of life out there.
There are also many poor people, some so desperate to risk waking up Butthead, the sleeping giant. You guys are bloody lucky I had taken a sleeping pill as things could have got messy.
Thankfully, we were left unharmed. Although, trying to renew one’s driver’s licence in this neck of the woods is a fate worse than death.
This sorry story doesn’t end there. Feeling rather vulnerable until we could replace the burglar bars, we decided to lock our valuables in our bedroom while we went out to lunch.
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When we arrived home later that evening, we couldn’t get back into our bedroom. How were we to know the lock was faulty? Luckily our son was on hand with a hammer and we actually had to break into the very bedroom our unexpected guests snuck into so easily the night before.
To make up the proverbial ‘trio’ of woes, a troop of monkeys tucked into our fruit bowl on Monday while we were combing the bushes for our wallets.
Fee fi fo fum, they smelled the blood of an Englishman.
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