Christmas of 1989. I had driven my girlfriend home and was sitting in my back room watching a video when Cleo the Cat went into my bedroom and looked at the door leading to the living room. I got out of my chair, went through the bedroom stopping to get my automatic pistol and headed into the living room to sit in my rocking chair and see if anything was going to happen.

Nothing did. I waited for a while, then looked out the window around the Christmas tree, saw nothing of interest and went back to my video.

The next morning when I went outside to get the newspaper, there was a line of footprints in the snow heading towards my front step, then turning, going across the lawn to the sidewalk that would have led to the back door, but turning back away from from the property. Clearly there had been a potential intruder who had seen the shadow of me, not even knowing I was prepared to blow him away, and decided that this was not an empty house and he better find a different one.

I was very happy. Disposing of the body would not have been difficult (no way would I bother with legal shit, I would have gotten rid of the body. When it was found it would have looked like a typical gangland hit and been just sort of forgotten) and who wants to do that work late Christmas night? Of course I was effluvious in my praise of Cleo the next morning.


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