Hi-De-Ho Rene,

Has your home ever been burglarized?

Mine was a few years ago, when I lived in Topeka. The burglar(s) didn’t take much – a cup of loose change and a jewelry box from my Grandma that contained items with little more than sentimental value – but every closet and drawer in my house had been opened, and the front doorjamb was destroyed. The burglar(s) picked the week of Thanksgiving to spread this particular brand of good will.

I bring this up because last night I had a reminder of it. I got home late from a dinner meeting. My sister was still at work. When I opened the screen door and put my key in the deadbolt, I realized that the door was slightly ajar. I pushed it open all the way, heart already pounding. I waited to hear the three warning beeps of the alarm system, which would signal that the alarm was still set and all was well. I heard them.

But in the dozen steps from the door to the keypad, all sorts of scenarios started racing through my head: What if someone HAD broken in, either managing to avoid tripping the alarm or resetting it so that I’d have a false sense of security? I almost punched in the panic code rather than the disarm code, but realized quickly that my imagination was running a bit wild. After all, if someone breaking in would think to set the alarm, why wouldn’t they bother to close the front door? Whew.

But then, as I walked back towards the door in the dark, I noticed that the basement light was on, and I heard two distinct “thumps.” I was outside in a flash. I summoned the nerve to ask a neighbor to come over while I checked every nook and cranny of the house. All was well. Neighbor went home. Then I realized I hadn’t checked the garage: Did that, things seemed fine, but then another “thump.” I decided the noise was probably coming from my dog running in and out of the dog door from the back yard to his corner of the garage; I let him in the house so he’d stop scaring me.

Didn’t work, because when Dutch got inside he was wound up, sniffing around like crazy. He found a scent trail that made him dart up to the second floor. While I stood below, still slightly unnerved, I heard him running back and forth among the rooms upstairs, something he normally does not do (usually Dutch’s first task is to stand by his food bowl and let out a single, plaintive bark). He kept returning to one particular room, which at that moment I couldn’t remember having checked. Then another “thump” – and I was outside again.

I was frightened enough to go back to the neighbor, swallowing my pride even though I was pretty sure I was being ridiculous. We did the room check thing again, which made me realize that the scent Dutch had picked up was probably the neighbor’s from the first time around. Doh.

You know who is at fault for my irrational panic? (Not me, of course.) Hollywood! Think “Scream,” or any of the “Halloween” movies and knockoffs. Or “The Silence of the Lambs” and its innumerable imitators. I don’t like horror movies, so I haven’t seen many, but the idea of persistent, sometimes hyperintelligent bogeymen who devise impossibly complex ways to snare their victims has permeated our culture.

In real life, most criminals are not so evil and definitely not so smart. They’re more like the burglar(s) who broke into my house in Topeka – they take change and cheap jewelry but leave behind small electronics and collector’s items. They cause more damage than they gain in loot. The danger they present is more likely related to them thinking they’re smart enough to get away with something smart people would never try.

So, Angelino, was my scaredy-cat episode unique to the feminine experience, or do things that go bump in the night trigger a response in men too?

Later,
Kari