Dear ersatz cat burglar, while your casing was spot on—poorly guarded rental home full of self-absorbed college kids (laptops! ipods! trust funds!) in a moderately affluent and sleepy neighborhood—your assumption that I might not be waking up at the horrible hour of 2 pm resulted in a bit of awkwardness for both of us... you were exceedingly polite, if in a bit of a rush when we met in the living room. I'm sorry for what happened once you got outside, what with your not having any mode of transport—maybe invest in (read: steal) a bike next time?—such that I suddenly found myself chasing you down with my car. I can’t say I’ve ever faced down a speeding Honda accord station wagon before, but I imagine it’s pretty intimidating. Anyhow, hats off for recognizing the absurdity of the situation and simply dropping the three over-stuffed backpacks full of dumb shit you so carefully selected from our weird smelling rooms. You did an excellent job translating my psychotic (and totally empty) threats into a polite request to leave the stuff and nobody gets hurt (it’s a totally heavy car.) You should have seen how many cops showed up right after you bolted to the creek (I blame the fucking neighbors who would call them if we got a little wild and played our Fleet Foxes record after 9.) Anyhow, I hope this letter finds you in a better place, as you kind of suck at burglary (you tried to steal a ten pound bike lock that had been cut in two places) and you seemed like a nice enough guy.
Get the best of the Mercury each week in your inbox!