According to my mother, she was sleeping around 6 a.m. on a Friday morning about two weeks ago. She was woken up by the psyhco dog, who went beserk and started barking. My mother came downstairs. The dog was sniffing under the kitchen door (that leads to the back door) and barking furiously. She opened the kitchen door a crack and saw the back door was open. My mother went back upstairs to wake up my brother, Peter. She wanted him to go into the basement to check out what was happening.
As Peter prepared himself to go into the basement to confront a burglar, my mother pleaded with him to take a weapon. She suggested a kitchen knife or the baseball bat that was in the front hallway. Were any of those weapons vicious enough for Peter?
No.
He took her Swiffer. Not even the Swiffer Wet Mop that might have a bit of heft if you pounded the hell out of someone, but the Swiffer dust mop, which is a hollow aluminum stick with an electrostatic rag attached at one end.
This burglar would be shakin' in his boots, all right.
Peter descended the stairs with CoCo in tow. Coco stopped on the third stair and bounded back up to the kitchen. So, Peter bravely went on his way alone, only to find...
nothing.
My mother insisted he check the fruit cellar after making a full sweep (no pun intended) of the basement. He pointed out that no one could or would hide in their because of all the crap stored in it.
I talked to Marlene earlier this week. She talked to her neighbor, Mary, who said that someone was probably casing my mom's house. My mother thinks that the burglar got as far as the back door, heard the dog and took off.
After all, what hardened criminal would be able to match wits and physical prowess with a man holding a Swiffer?
