Occassionally my cats remind me that I was not the only one traumatized when my house was burglarized. In fact, I was relatively lucky. I was not home and I lost a few “things.” Fluffy and Sidewalk (who is no longer with me) were home.
I do not know what happened in my home. I left for church the first Sunday morning I lived here. 2.5 hours later I returned home to discover I had no DVD/VCR deck or [individual] VCR. The stereo was unpacked, but not stolen. Clean laundry was strewn about the living room. All the quarters in my change dish were missing, but the nickels, dimes and pennies remained; and an entire laundry basket full of high heels also disappeared.
A friend had returned home with me. We searched the house. The back door was wide open. It hadn’t been when we drove up to the house. This means as we entered the front door, the burglars exited the back.
Almost that full day went by before I could coax Fluffy out from under the bed. Sidewalk remained cowering in the dusty dark until late Monday afternoon. Sidewalk never recovered. Her sunny nature turned slowly paranoid, then violent. I had to send her away because she constantly bit and scratched anything or anyone that moved.
Between the robbery and Sidewalk’s exodus to the kitty mental asylum, Chrissy was born (the child of Sidewalk and Fluffy). Sidewalk was a conscientious, and loving mommy — but she trained her daughter to flee at the slightest odd sound. Currently the siding on my neighbor’s house is being repaired while Fluffy and Chrissy cower beneath my bed.
I do not need my possessions back, but we all truly mourn our loss of security. As a Christian I know I should not wish grief upon anyone, but during moments like this I secretly wish that my intruders someday face a similar violation.