Punishment

 

The job of a cat burglar has changed a lot in the years I have been involved.

Once upon a time I used to to wait until a person was out, sneak into their house through an open window, or at worst pick a lock, then I’d simply wander through the house at my leisure taking what I wanted and what I knew would make me a few bucks on the black market.

Night time sorties were often a little different because I’d have to sneak in, work under the cover of darkness being careful not to make the slightest of noises that may wake the sleeping occupants while still getting the goodies and getting out without being noticed.

The popularity of burglar alarms and CCTV has done little to change my job, a cat burglar who doesn’t evolve doesn’t stay in work so keeping abreast of technology is a must. Knowing how to avoid cameras or disable an alarm system has to become second nature to me.

The biggest change happened a few years ago, now you might think that change was when vigilantes, crazy people, those delude souls who for some reason want to force me out of a career started to arm themselves but even that wasn’t the biggest change. Let me explain with an example that happened six months ago.

I was sneaking around the back of a six bedroom house o Kings St (that’s right the suburban mother load for someone like me) looking for the best entry way. It was after midnight, there was no moon, a strong northerly wind, which I often used to hide any noises I did make, and it was very cold, easily into single figures.

I could hear the noise of the central heating unit keeping the house warm overnight as the residents slept, another handy noise suppressor for someone in my line of business, as I quietly picked the door lock of the laundry door.

Careful not to let the door squeak as I opened it I snuck inside scanning the floor in front of me to make sure there was nothing to trip over before shutting the door and making my way into the main part of the house.

I walked around the house as if I owned it, picking up items that I knew I could sell, leaving items of lesser value but noting their location in case I needed something to make up the shortfall before leaving. I entered and left the lounge, the dinning room and the study but it wasn’t until I entered the main bedroom that I realised just how much my job had changed.

I tip toed into the room expecting to see the dark silhouette of the bed and one or two occupants sleeping within it, maybe lit by the glow of a digital clock, but instead I saw nothing. Taking another step I turned to the right and saw him, all six foot four inches of him.

The second I looked at him a light came on, almost as it was switched on by motion detector. He stood there in a black leather gimp suit, tied to a frame which appeared to be a modified fitness frame, ball gag in his mouth and a police man’s hat on his head.

“You’re under arrest,” I heard him say as I realised the ball gag was not secure.

Instantly I knew I was busted and that I had no choice but to accept my punishment. What was that punishment I hear you ask?

Well I’m sitting here writing this in my new bedroom, the frame is still standing but we have a bed in the room now and Daniel, my new boyfriend, soon to be husband when they legalise gay marriage is quietly sleeping beside me.