It’s one thing to be robbed by a perfect stranger, and quite another to be robbed by someone you know — a friend, an acquaintance, a neighbor.
A feline. One named “Pinky.”
The back story: For the past week or so someone has been swiping my morning paper. At first we thought the paper carrier had just missed us. We called to complain and he showed up apologetically with a new paper, explaining that he really had delivered it. He said he took special care trying to get it over the construction trailer on the street — an Olympic task. I pictured the poor guy pulling a muscle as he tried to launch it at a trajectory so high only space shuttles usually attempt it.
He told my wife someone was probably swiping it and that he would try his best to get it even closer to the porch. What a good guy, but I worried he might wrap his car around a tree in a vain attempt.
And hard as he tried, the papers kept disappearing. I started rising earlier and earlier to beat the thief at his game, and began concocting all manner of devious ideas to deal with him. I could put out bear traps, or perch buckets of acid in the trees. Maybe dog poop in an old newspaper bag might do the trick. Oh, that would be good. Or maybe I could hide in the car with a flashlight, jump out as the thief walked up and scream … oh well, that’s no good. What could you possibly scream at a newspaper thief that would still preserve your dignity? (Especially if you’re in your boxers.)
I settled on the old bait-and-switch — I would stuff an old newspaper bag with cardboard, get up early and then replace the paper with the dummy. After a couple days of that I figured the thief would grow tired of the game and begin stealing someone else’s paper. Problem (for me) solved.
I rose early that first morning, wandered outside, tossed the dummy paper on the sidewalk and began searching for my paper. But it was already gone. GONE! I fumed. Searching through bushes, I cursed and promised vengeance. And then, to make matters worse, I caught out the corner of my eye a scrawny white cat casually trotting up to my dummy paper. She clamped down on it with her teeth and proudly carted it off to her own yard like it was some kind of fresh kill.
“Pinky!” I yelled. “Bring back my fake newspaper!”
Twice I had been robbed in the same morning. But it hadn’t totally dawned on me what I had just witnessed, not until later that morning as I recounted the story to my wife. And then it clicked: “Wait a minute … you don’t think Pinky is stealing are papers, do you?” I asked.
How could it be? A dog, maybe. But a cat? Why would a cat steal newspapers? They can’t read. They can’t clip coupons.
Maybe my eyes had betrayed me — had I really seen a cat make off with a newspaper bag? Seemed too ridiculous — too absurd.
Until I asked my neighbor later whether, by chance, he had noticed any stray newspapers floating around.
“You know,” he said, “I was just wondering about that. I couldn’t figure out where they came from. Pinky shredded them along with a roll of paper towels.”
“Shredded them!?!” I yelled. “Pinky’s stealing my newspapers!”
The mystery was solved, but it didn’t settle the dilemma. How do you stop a cat from stealing your newspapers each morning? Bear traps? A stern talk? A neighbor’s newspaper? Instead, each morning I’ve started rising earlier and earlier to race outside and snatch up the paper before Pinky can.
She looks at me differently now, kind of put-off by the whole deal — someone stealing her precious newspaper. I wonder where things will go from here — if we’ll both be out there each morning scrambling for the flying paper. The poor newspaper carrier will certainly crash his car at the sight of this, especially if I’m in my boxers.