Nancy "Tater" Drew... Girl Detective

aka, Granny gets her Gun...

There have been some crazy times around here for the last few days, and I've been wanting to do someone some serious harm.
Not the Old Guy... but some little punk-ass guy who lives in the neighborhood.
A little thieving, stalking, piece of scum little PUNK.
Who needs to have his arse seriously whupped.

To start you in from the beginning, I'll give you a run-down of my back door and patio area, okay?
See, When you head out my back door, you exit into a little dog-leg area, that has a wooden sliding door on the left, a windowed wall straight ahead, and then to get to the patio, you turn right and go about 10 steps... to the patio itself.

Or maybe that's making it sound flasher than it really is.
Because what it really is, is an oversized carport area with a back brick wall, a roller door in the front, a shed towards the back, and it's basically open on only one side.
It's where I practically live, because it's set up with a patio table, a couch and a couple of chairs, the barbecue, and with plenty of room left over for the kids to ride their trikes.
It's where I go in the mornings, to have my first cuppa of the day and a smoke.
(Okay, I heard that gasp of horror. But get over it. I smoke, okay? Let's leave the lectures for later. Besides, it's my only vice, since I gave up sex, drugs and alcohol.)

Anywhoooo... I went outside at about 4am yesterday, with my cup of coffee and the first thing that caught my eye, was my Swiffer mop handle laying right across the little dog-leg area directly outside the back door.

And the hackles went up, because it was at least 6 foot from where it was, when I went to bed.
Cats? No, a cat couldn't have knocked it over, because like I said, it was six feet from where it would have landed, if it had simply fallen over. It had been moved. Purposefully. Or on purpose...whatever.
Strange that.

So I headed over to the patio table to sit down and have a smoke... and my chair was warm. Like someone had just gotten out of it, warm.
Okay, maybe it was the neighbors cat, Pud, who spends most of his life in my yard rather than his owners.
But noooo, there's Pud lying on the couch, on my sweater.
Pud had not been in my chair, because he was too curled up and comfortable to have moved in the last 30 seconds.

Someone had been sitting in my chair.
And I'll bet you dollars to doughnuts, that it wasn't Goldilocks.
And Pud sure as hell wasn't talking.
Okay... now I'm freaked, so I head back inside and double lock all the doors.

But once it got light, I went back outside ( I still hadn't had that smoke yet, and I was a bit pissed off and cranky) and I noticed that there were vines from the fence, and a few branches from one of the geraniums strewn across the grass... and I instantly said to myself : "Self, it was just a possum".
That's all it was. He (she?) came over the fence, making a mess, came into the patio, probably checked out Pud's cat food (yes, I'm a sucker, but I figure he sleeps better with a full warm tummy) and then curled up in my chair and had a bit of a snooze.
Yep, that's it. I was freaking about nothing at all.
Or was I?

What about the Swiffer mop? The only way that could have ended it up where it was, was if Mr. Possum had carried it 6 feet... and that's not exactly likely, now is it?
Okay, I'm still a bit freaked, but maybe it wasn't anything. Maybe, just maybe... I'm making much ado about nothing.
So I decide to go on a tour of the yard.
And then I notice wet footprints coming off the grass, across the cement, and leading straight into the patio.
Not from a cat or any animal or my fuzzy purple slippers... but big, wet size 10 footprints, with tread on them.

Okay, it's all been a bit of a puzzle, but I shrug it off. Someone came through the yard in the night, but they're gone now and that's the end of it.

Until 9:45 Saturday morning.

While I was standing in the kitchen, making a cup of coffee for my friend Bonnie, I look out the kitchen window and notice a guy wandering around in my patio.
Bigger than life.
Like he lived here.
There's nothing furtive or sneaky about him, and it just seems that he's totally comfortable being somewhere he has no business being, and it doesn't bother him one little iota that he can hear us in the kitchen! (Bonnie is a cackler and the people 2 doors down would have heard her.)

Anyway, this guy proceeds to walk over to the patio table, and he picks up my smokes and lighter, puts them in the pocket of his hoodie, and he just strolls away... looking around as he's going.
So Bonnie and I run to the back door, and when he hears us, he hoofs it straight down the yard, and up and over the back fence! I'm yelling ( rude things, I guarantee you) Bonnie's yelling and her 8 year old son is yelling... but punk boy just keeps going, clanging and banging on the fences as he goes from one yard to the next. But Bonnie (bless her pea-pickin' little heart) managed to get 3 photos on her camera phone, and in one, you can see his face clearly!

Okay... it's official. I'm freaked.

So I call the cops and all they can tell me is that I should leave the spotlight on in the yard overnight.
Hellooooooo? Did you not hear the part where I said he was here in broad daylight? He was crossing fences, and strolling around like he owned the place, so what's a spotlight going to do?
Just give him more light to see by, so he doesn't trip and hurt himself?
I've got pictures... and I've got his mobile phone, which he dropped as he went over the fence.
I showed it all to the cops and they said to just ring 000 (911) if I heard anything again.

And then last night, he came back.
Having grown up on Nancy Drew and the like and taken everything that Nancy and her friends did, I was ready for this sucker.

• I strung heavy fishing line at the spot where he had initially come over the fence.

• I strung more fishing line at ankle height and attached it to cat food cans, so they would fall over and clatter when it was touched - and hopefully, he would fall flat on his face.

• I sprinkled flour in the areas that he would have to walk to get to my patio.

• I balanced a 4x4 on nails, just over head height, and attached it to more fishing line, so it would fall on him when and if he crossed the line.

Because he's well and truly crossed the line! Don't mess with me, you punk-ass little sucker, because I'll get you - one way or another!!

Did I get him?
Yes and no.
I didn't shoot him anyway.

He came back...
He tripped the line, and the cans fell over and he got tangled up. (hahaha)
He tripped the other line... and the board came down and hopefully knocked him in his little pointed, empty of brains head. (again...hahaha)
And he left footprints all over the patio...

So I called 000 and they managed to catch the little bast buzzard one street over, with flour all over his pants!
Of course, he's denying everything, but with the pictures we got, and his mobile phone?
They have enough to charge him !
*doin' a happy dance*

So...don't mess with this old lady ever again, you little brainless, pointy headed little worthless piece of shit poop, PUNK!

I'll give ya what your mama should have given you!
I'll whup your ass so hard, you won't be sitting down for a week!