I’m a cat burglar. No, I don’t steal cats. I don’t even like the creatures. They shed hair, get underfoot and sleep where you want to work. They are the snobs of the animal world and a bane to my existence. In the pursuit of my career I have stepped on them when entering a house. You can’t believe the noise! I’m certain it has been recorded by civilizations in other galaxies to be used as proof that life exists on planet earth, albeit not the sort of life with which one would care to associate.

But I am not here to talk about cats. Nor am I here to defend my profession, noble as it may be. Noble, you ask? Illegal, of course, with an element of danger. I have often fled the scene just before the blast of a shotgun from some angry homeowner. Not as bad as a cat howling, but nonetheless disconcerting. But I stand by my definition. "Noble" is as fine a description as any for the work I do. However, don’t take my word for it. I will let you judge for yourself.

It was a moonless autumn night. I had been watching this house for several days, familiarizing myself with the habits of the residents, particularly their comings and goings. It was an upscale, although not ostentatious home in an upscale, although not ostentatious neighborhood. The house was owned by a childless couple in their late thirties. The husband held a high position in one of the local businesses. The wife was active in many social and civic clubs that kept her out of the house several nights a week. In short, they saw very little of one another.

Their schedules were of great importance to me. I prefer to "visit" when no one is home. Contrary to popular opinion, cat burglars are not daring, fierce individuals. We are basically cowards who abhor confrontations. I must admit that I have miscalculated on more than one occasion. But, given my ‘druthers’, I will opt for an empty house.

The reason I was interested in this particular house was because of the avocation of the husband. He collected coins. Such items are ideal for burglars. They are readily transportable, almost impossible to trace, and serve as legal tender. The rare ones can be fenced without difficulty at a favorable "exchange" rate. I have realized as much as forty-five cents on the dollar.

At any rate, I had it on good authority that the man had an extensive, valuable collection. My larcenous instincts tingled at the prospect, and it may have been the reason that I got careless. My professionalism was overcome by my eagerness—not a good thing in my line of work. To put it simply, I chose a bad time to take possession of the coins.

The missus was home. Friday was her auxiliary meeting night, a long evening for her. She seldom got home before midnight. On this particular Friday, the husband was away on a business trip. How did I know this? Trade secret. We have ways.

For some reason she did not go to her meeting. She was home. More unfortunately, she was not alone. Nor was she with her husband, of course. He was two thousand miles away. This seemed of no consequence to the lady.

I had entered the house by way of a poorly designed window latch in the upstairs hallway. I had just lowered the window and started down the hall when I heard strange noises coming from the bedroom. The bedroom door was open and I had a clear view of the occupants.

Now I am sure you have seen those ads for X-Rated movies where certain parts of the anatomy are covered with stars. Well, the scene I was witnessing looked like one of those ads, except there were no stars. I was transfixed! I watched for a few seconds, then continued on my way. Ordinarily I would have left as soon as I discovered that someone was home. But these two were preoccupied, thoroughly engrossed in their entertainment. I decided to risk it, figuring that the man had the staying power to keep them both occupied until I could get what I came for and leave. It shouldn’t take more than five minutes.

I greatly overestimated the guy’s manhood. I was no more than a few feet beyond the bedroom door when the activity ended with shouts and noises that are not possible to reproduce on the printed page. I stopped dead in my tracks, looked around frantically for a place to hide, and took cover in a broom closet next to the bedroom. It was small and dark, with thin walls that let me hear every word that was being spoken in the bedroom. What I heard made me wish I had chosen another line of work.

"You’ve got to do it soon," a female voice said. My power of deduction told me that the voice was the missus.

A grunt, male in timbre.

"Do you hear me, Hal?"

Another grunt. Either Hal was the strong silent type or he was still recovering from his recent activity.

There was a rustle of bed sheets followed by footsteps. The missus, who I later learned was named Lorraine, walked quickly to the bathroom. I heard water running, and envisioned her completely nude toweling herself off. It was one of my better fantasies, I must say. The diversion made me forget my claustrophobic environment for a moment. A few seconds later she returned to the arena, better known as the bed. A rustle of sheets.

"He’s no fool," Lorraine said. "How long do you think we can get away with this?"

Another grunt. It was obvious to me that Hal was not enthusiastic about pursuing the subject, whatever it may be. I had already formed an opinion, although I wasn’t thrilled with the thought. Lorraine wanted her husband out of the picture. And Hal was the instrument.

I felt sorry for Hal. He may be a philanderer—although no more so than Lorraine. But philandering and murder fall into two distinct categories, just as cat burglarizing and murder do. He was no more of a murderer than I.

On the other hand, he had more incentive than I to kill someone. If he indeed cared for Lorraine and ran the risk of losing her if the husband remained on the scene, (which quite simply translates into "alive"), he may be capable of murder. I didn’t know Hal, had no idea what made him tick. As far as I knew he could be a serial killer.

"I know, Lorraine, I know," he growled at last. "But my God! There has to be another way."

"We’ve been over this before, Hal. I don’t like it any more than you do. There is no other way."

There was a click of a cigarette lighter. Hal’s feet hit the floor with a thud.

"Okay, Okay," he said.

"That’s not good enough. When, Hal? When? For God’s sake, Frank could find out about us tonight. Then where would we be? I’m an adulteress. I wouldn’t get a penny from him. You would be dragged through the court."

Silence. I tried to imagine what was happening. Lorraine, propped up against the pillows. Hal sitting dejectedly on the edge of the bed. One or both of them smoking.

"You’d lose your job, Hal. You know that. He’d see to that."

"Okay, Lorraine. You made your point."

Except for an occasional rustle of bed sheets, there was a heavy silence for what seemed an eternity. Finally Lorraine spoke.

"He’s due home tomorrow. I’ll be leaving for mother’s Sunday morning. I won’t be back until Wednesday. That gives you three days."

Hal began pacing. His heavy footsteps reached my ears. I held my breath. I hoped he wouldn’t choose this time of night to sweep up.

"Frank is a creature of habit," Lorraine said. "Tuesday night he will be at the club. He gets home at ten o’clock. On the dot. You can set your watch by him."

"Okay," Hal said. "I’m here waiting for him. I hit him over the head with the poker."

I groaned inwardly. Not the poker! That’s been overdone. Why not use something more original? Oh, well. It was their murder.

I tensed at the thought. I am witness to a plot to kill a man. I had to do something to prevent it.

"Right," Lorraine was saying. "Once you’re sure he’s dead, you mess up the living room and den, take some stuff. It will look like he interrupted a burglary and was killed for it."

Burglary! I bristled. They’re going to pin this on a burglar. How dare they? It is stuff like this that gives us burglars a bad name. For the most part we are non-violent folk trying to make a dishonest living. I don’t even carry a weapon. I never fired a gun in my life, and I certainly could never hit anyone with a poker.

"Jeez, Lor," Hal growled. "I don’t know if I can do it."

"Sure you can, Hal," she purred. "Remember. It’s for us. You love me, don’t you?"

"You know I do."

"Come here," she said. "Show me how much you love me. Now."

It was enough to make one gag. I sat back and listened as the bed squeaked. I was impressed. Maybe I had misjudged Hal after all.

Then again, maybe not. The activity lasted less than a minute. The room fell silent. I put my ear to the wall and listened. I heard a faint snore. Hal, no doubt. I had no idea what Lorraine was doing. She may or may not be asleep. I decided to wait a while longer.

It was after midnight when I crawled out of the closet. Stiff from being cramped into a small space for several hours, my legs protested when I tried to walk. I massaged them gently, took a few deep breaths and arched my back to get the kinks out. Peering into the bedroom I could see the outlines of Hal and Lorraine. They were sleeping soundly. I hoped they were deep sleepers. I had work to do.

Ordinarily I would have hightailed it out of the house. As I said earlier, I abhor confrontations. And nothing, not even untraceable coins, is worth the risk of being caught in someone else’s home in the middle of the night. But tonight was different. I had overheard a plot to kill someone. I had to do something.

During my brief imprisonment in the broom closet I had time to think things over. Hal was about to put Frank’s lights out with a poker. Lorraine would be out of town, visiting her mother, when the dastardly deed was done. She would have an alibi if anything went wrong. I wondered if Hal had considered this. Ah, well, that was his problem. I had enough problems of my own, particularly how to prevent this from happening without getting involved. I’m a coward, remember?

I could make an anonymous phone call to the police telling them about the scheme. But I was pretty certain that they would not act on such a call, particularly from someone who was hiding in a broom closet waiting to rob the place. Once the murder had been committed, my phone call would undoubtedly be remembered and they would arrest Hal and Lorraine. But that would be too late to do Frank any good.

By stealing the coins I would put a crimp in their plans. Staging a fake robbery so soon after a real one would be difficult. But they would only find another way to kill him. Automobile accidents are popular these days as a way of eliminating unwanted spouses.

I considered leaving and calling the house from a pay phone. But I didn’t know the number or Frank’s last name. So I couldn’t get it from information. And there was also the possibility that the phone number was unlisted.

I also thought of leaving a note telling the lovebirds that the jig was up. Why not? But there was the possibility that Frank would find it first. I didn’t want that. Not that I was trying to protect these paramours. Far from it. I wanted to see Hal and Lorraine squirm. I wanted them to spend twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, working to keep Frank alive. Any death other than natural and they were in deep trouble. The irony of it appealed to me. Call me weird. Call me sadistic. But being forced to sit in a dingy, cramped closet for three hours was cruel and unusual punishment. And they wanted to pin this rap on a burglar. That was the last straw! I wanted revenge.

Downstairs in the den I found the coins I was looking for. Neatly arrayed in a display case, they were not protected with alarms or locks. Frank obviously felt that they were safe and needed no further protection. Frank was as wrong about this as he was about his wife’s fidelity.

Using my penlight to see, I carefully opened the case and took the coins. The whole process took less than a minute. Looking about the room for anything else of value that was portable, I settled for a sterling silver letter opener and a baseball autographed by Mark McGwire. Being a Giants fan, I would have preferred Barry Bonds, but burglars can’t be choosers.

I left the den with my loot and tiptoed down the hall. Pausing at the foot of the stairs, I listened for signs of life, including, but not limited to, amorous activity. (I still held out hope that Hal was a better man than I had given him credit for.) Satisfied that they were still asleep I went into the living room.

It was not overly large, but could easily accommodate a dozen people without becoming too cozy for comfort. A bay window looked out over a well kept yard. On the opposite wall was a fireplace, stocked with wood and fireplace tools including—behold—a poker! On the mantle were family pictures. With my penlight I studied the photos. One of them was of the happy couple. I recognized Lorraine. I had seen her in the past when I was casing the joint. The man was smiling, a nice smile on a pleasant face. He had his hand on her shoulder and her hand covered his. It was heart rending.

I took the picture and placed it on the hearth in front of the fireplace screen. Taking the poker from the stand, I positioned it over Frank‘s head. I took a piece of string from my booty bag, fashioned it into a crude noose, and draped it over Lorraine’s head. This would appear to be a strange tableau to anyone except Hal and Lorraine. But I was certain they would get the message. I doubted they would go through with their plans knowing that someone "out there" knew what they were up to. Frank would live a long life, or at least be spared a poker party. And, if Hal and Lorraine were as smart as I thought they were, they would give up their plan to murder Frank in any way shape or form. A simple phone call to the police from the "phantom" would ice their cake.

I wondered what would happen to their little romance now that there was no safe way to dispose of Frank. I had a feeling the flame would flicker and die. How sad. Well, I never claimed to be cupid.

I read the account of the burglary with interest. The wife, who was home alone, (liar, liar, pants on fire!), reported hearing a disturbance and called the police. The call was made at 3:00 a.m., a full two hours after I had left. So Lorraine and Hal had taken two hours to report the crime. Why so long? Surely it wouldn’t have taken them long to realize that their plot to kill Frank was as dead as they wanted Frank to be. Did they take time for a final bit of "extranubial" bliss? Maybe. But, being familiar with Hal’s track record, I suspect that wouldn’t have taken more than a minute or two.

Among the missing items, according to Frank Stevens, were some coins and a baseball autographed by Sammy Sosa. What a laugh! He isn’t even on the same team as McGwire. Just what kind of a fan was this guy?

I guess it will come as no surprise to you that there was no mention of the grim little scene in the living room.

Frank will never know it, but I saved his life. I’m proud of that. Which brings me back to the start. If I hadn’t been in that house, Frank Stevens would be dead now. In the course of pursuing my occupation, I had the chance to perform a truly life saving deed. How many of you can say that? So you see, cat burglary can be a noble profession. Just ask Frank. Better yet, ask Lorraine.

Contact the Author - hcozine@yahoo.com