How Not to Catch a Thief

To protect their flawless reputations as astute and sensible residents of the close-knit town of Ellisville, names of the couple featured in this column have been changed. We will call them Lucy and Ricky in this story, a fateful tale that demonstrates the finer points of how not to catch a thief.

Lucy and Ricky were sleeping when there arose a clamor of unrecognizable origin.

"Lucy, did you hear that?" croaked Ricky as he sat stiff and vigilant among his pillows.

"Hear what?" answered Lucy.

"That noise," Ricky said. "I heard something. Or somebody. I'm getting the gun."

Ricky eased soft-footed to the stashed pistol and motioned for Lucy to remain quiet. He tiptoed downstairs, in search of the culprit. He crept about the interior of the first floor, finding nothing.

"Do you see anything?" called Lucy.

"Not yet," whispered Ricky. They both listened for the telltale sound of a predator.

"What did it sound like?" asked Lucy.

"Shhhhh!" commanded Ricky. "I think I hear something outside. Hold on while I check it out!"

Deep in the night, when the world is sleeping and sinister trespassers lurk beneath the cloak of darkness, it proves difficult to remain cool, calm and collected. In the haste to protect our loved ones and possessions from possible vandalism or attack, we may become oblivious to our surroundings and our own personal safety.

Ricky found himself in just such a predicament.

Peering through the French doors to the moonlit lawn, Ricky searched the perimeter. He gripped the gun with one hand and the doorknob with the other. At that moment, he realized that the only thing between flesh and foe were his skivvies, but Ricky pressed on.
Outside in the shadowy open, Ricky crept across the carport, gauging his steps and stopping to shield himself with protective cover at critical points of surveillance. He stalked to the front yard, inwardly impressed with his ability to move silently in the night.

Then, a rustle.

"Lucy!" he half-shouted in a hoarse command. "I need the light!"

Responding with unprecedented agility and speed, Lucy flipped the switch for the floodlights, the ones that mimic the blinding brightness of a Broadway stage. And there stood Ricky, in full, Fruit-of-the-Loom glory, clutching his weapon and the dismal shreds of his dignity, an illuminated icon in the style of Barney Fife, frozen in place by the unmistakable grunt of stifled laughter and the brilliant beacons that blazed from the roofline. He responded in due time, with grace under fire.

"I meant the flashlight, Lucy."

Ricky never solved the mystery of that thump in the night. Whoever or whatever caused the disturbance must have masterminded a subterfuge of perfect design.

Sometimes the greatest lessons we learn are what not to do. Perhaps when responding to the call of protecting life, limb and property, the first and most important rule is don't lose your head. The second might be don't forget your pants. Finally, call 911 but don't shoot your wife. Hysterical laughter is never adequate grounds for using a weapon in self-defense.

Just for the record, a visit to a local pharmacy might allow you firsthand recounts of this and other adventures survived by Lucy and Ricky. A group of like-minded individuals gather there daily for coffee and fellowship, as grandchildren, golf games and citizen arrests allow.

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~Write to Kristen at krinzgal@yahoo.com~