Here at the Schrödingers, we've had it with the porch pirates. Sad to say, we've also had it with the cat. She'll probably crap in the sink again. She'll probably piss in the silverware drawer again. She'll probably shred the leather couch again. She'll probably vomit on the smartphone again. In any event, she stinks, and it's easier to get a cat in a box than in the bath.

Let them steal this! Let them choose! Will they steal this? Will they choose?

Probably, which is pretty funny when you think about it.

All I know is that we aren't responsible for what happens. Our consciences are clear, shimmying in a probability cloud of feline survival.

Or not.

The Amazon app is on my home screen, I use it that much. Easy ordering, easy, free, returns. What’s not to like? I can order at 9am and my inflatable party sheep and tatoo removal laser are on my doorstep when I get home.

Right!

That’s how it should work, but in reality, there’s a 95% chance that Bonnie and Clyde will have taken off with the day’s deals before I even leave work.

Obviously, that’s not their real names. Their real names are Dick and Wad. Hahaha. I knock myself out. I don’t know what they call themselves. I did, however, install a knock off Slomin’s door camera so I do know the lurchers are a woman and a man. Not generally together unless it’s a particularly heavy box day like when I ordered a 55-gallon bucket of lube.

Yeah, I said what I said. Mind your business.

Anyway, I installed the camera when they took off with my order of bacon bandages, bacon lip balm and dehydrated water. Enough is enough. Don’t mess with my bacon! And the dehydrated water would have been great on my hunting trip next month.

I found the Slomin knock off at Dollar General on Highway 52, set it up in less than half an hour, connected it to my phone and ordered some coyote urine for Nitwit and Lamebrain. I also ordered a Yip Smart Tag which I requested be activated with the tracking software accessible by Apple Find My immediately.

Order placed, I kept my phone on loud so I wouldn’t miss any notifications. The package was delivered at 3:00pm. I turned on the camera app and waited. Not twenty minutes later. Halfwit showed up and grabbed the box. I turned on Apple Find My, told my boss I had to deal with a personal matter and left.

By the time I got to the police department, I had a location. I told my story and they went to have a little chat with Yogi and Booboo. I followed though not too close since they had told me to go home and wait to hear from them.

The location was a blue bungalow with a double stack of empty boxes at the curb. Checking the boxes, they must have seen one with my information because after checking them out they went straight to the door, guns drawn. They rang the bell, but from my car, I saw Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dumb trying to escape out the back and across their neighbor’s yard. Not on my watch. I made a U-turn and went to head them off at the corner. When I saw them about to run across the street, I made the left turn. Oops! My bad.

I grabbed some rope and duct tape, jumped out of the truck and trussed them up like a prize buck and his doe.

The cops gave me a ticket for reckless driving but I’m gonna fight it.

Good news is my second order of bacon bandages and bacon lip balm arrived today and were on my porch when I got home.

Bad news is they were sold out of dehydrated water.

Okay, as soon as they open it, bam! They get hit with one of those boxing gloves on a spring.

That's not all though. As soon as the glove hits, a bunch of killer bees fly out (not honey bees, as they are too nice), and go to their target.

When the thief is on the ground in pain, I will then open a window and pour hot soup on them.

I'd get a box and cover it in birthday wrapping paper to make sure it was stolen. I wouldn't put my address or name on it in case they realize later and come back for revenge. Then I'd fill the box with thick blankets and cheap toys to make the weight. They'd rip into the well wrapped layers one after another flinging them away not realizing the nearly invisible company they had brought into their lives.

Bugs of all sorts, lice, fleas, ticks and even bedbugs if I could find them. If lucky I could even get miniscule baby roaches to add to the fun. The pirates will sit there in disappointment, bemoaning the cheapness of their ill-gotten gains. Days, or weeks maybe even months later they'll realize their infestation. They'll be sent home from school or work in tears with itchy scalps and red bumps on their skin. Their house will crumble around them from insect damage. They'll be pulling up carpets and washing everything they own over and over. As they spend all their money on exterminators they'll wonder how this happened to them.

They'll never know how it happened, never suspect that it was me. Even if they did what could they say, that the stuff they stole was infested. I'll lose nothing but some cheap plastic toys and some thrift store blankets bought especially for this purpose. Cheaper than most of the booby traps I see and more insidious. Only drawback I see is that I don't get to witness their reaction but I can imagine it and smile.

It was Friday - and payday. A cup of strong, rich coffee was needed to celebrate. I waited for the Keurig to finish. Ah, but this was sweet. All week, I’d been able to pilfer my coworker’s coffee creamer: a delicious Italian Sweet Cream. It was just cream and not the crown jewels, after all.

I was still alone in the breakroom, but I moved with stealth, much like the Pink Panther, to the fridge and swung the door open. Glancing covertly about to ensure my continued solitude, I quickly grabbed the creamer and poured a good measure in my cup. Sighing with relief, I replaced the creamer and leaned against the closed fridge. I smiled like a Cheshire cat. Yet another well-executed heist. My co-worker's bottle of creamer did feel nearly empty, but the heifer never used it anyway. Besides, this game was much too fun, and I was winning.

Stirring my coffee, I headed back to my cubicle. Best to be working hard (as if) when the others arrived. Seated, I inhaled the rich brew. There was nothing like an aromatic cup of java to start one's day. I smiled – one with cream, that is. I lifted the mug, took a large swallow, and then choked, disbelief running rampant in my mind. I sputtered and coffee residue covered my desk. The taste of something decidedly bitter and utterly nasty enveloped every orifice in my head.

This game was over. The heifer had won.

There’s nothing more sickening than someone who preys on the vulnerable and cross bites their own people. I’m enraged by hypocrisy and greed, ever eager to stab a man in the pupil with a #2 pencil when they have it coming . I love tearing out tongues of sniveling traitors and petulant beta boys. I embody bloodlust and violence every chance I get. I’m Righteous Vigilante Justice. I’m a mean-ass Mama Rattlesnake, patiently waiting to strike down chickenhearted losers messing with my nest. I’ll strike so fast, no one sees it coming. I’ll knick your nose with one fang, and effortlessly rip your top lip with the other fang. I‘ll bless you with a beautiful new cleft pallet for free, gaping wounds and scent of warm blood in the air are perks of the job. I love watched double-crossing chauvinists drowning in blood and spit. I‘ll watch your disgraceful, meaningless life whittle away and burn out as you claw at my poison racing through your veins. I love putting childen to bed and watching them weep.

A sad, miserable man lived a very pathetic life next door to me until he died recently. He had it coming, but he didn’t see it coming. It’s one of my fondest memories. This dishonorable man smelled like a scumbag troll living in a toilet filled with wet cardboard, spoiled milk, and Jager bomb shits. He had Spineless Prick Disorder which causes whiskey dick even without adding whiskey. That little tiny guy never worked. You could see the malcontent on his soulless face. He was a disgusting, distorted Kenny G lookalike…if Kenny G was a bastard, meth addict born from the loins of a hunchback voodoo witch orc. He kept a violin bow in his piss-hole since his dick didn’t work anyways.

My neighbor never looked me in the eye. He stared forcefully at his penny loafers and argyle socks, shamefully hiding his wretched thoughts from the kind grannies and tight assed teenagers living across the street. He loathed himself as I pictured murdering him every night, waiting to learn the vile slime lurking inside his mind so I could collect his soul.

He didn’t see it coming at all. It was so good. My tortured heart still beats strong from joy if burning down that man’s despicable life.

I found out his secret. I put it all together. I plotted my revenge.

I waited patiently for my shit-bag neighbor to drunkenly drive his stupid looking Mini Cooper back from another night harassing the strippers at Two Lip Tulips. He stumbled and swerved like a newborn giraffe, and looked like a plump English bulldog with breathing problems.

I waited patiently for my moment.

I am Death. I am Vengence. I am Karma armed with atom bombs. The innocence and trust of unsuspecting Prime members in my community has been stripped from us and I will have my payback.

When I saw the video evidence of my neighbors monstrosities I wasn’t entirely displeased by the package he chose snatch off my stoop that day. It was my new cast iron skillet. I couldn't have chosen a more perfect weapon. So many possibilities for an agonizing, skull crushing, bone smashing, good old fun American murder mystery. I cooked a perfectly rare tomahawk ribeye for dinner the following night. Such sweet memories.

The place next door to me is still on the market if you’re lookin. I heard it’s a killer deal.