The Cat
Looks Back
Well, it has
been some time since you called round, hasn’t it? I understand why – life is busy after all,
but I’m glad you could come and sit for a while. Let me get two teas, and we can talk…
I see you’re
admiring that brooch? It is beautiful,
isn’t it – gold and with rubies set into the metal. Have I ever told you how I managed to obtain
it?
It was a flat
in Hampstead, and I had no problem getting into the residence and finding some
fine pieces as I looked round. As often
seemed to happen at that time, however, I was disturbed when the lady who lived
there came home unexpectedly.
She was in her
early forties, with brown hair held in place by I suspected at least a can of
hairspray, and a pair of large glasses covered her eyes. As to her clothing, she was wearing a light
grey jacket and skirt, with a chocolate brown roll neck silk sweater under the
jacket, and keen length tight leather boots in the same shade of grey as her
jacket and skirt.
A very
coordinated approach – and she certainly seemed to remain calm as she saw me
standing there, a stocking over my head and her valuables in my gloved hands. I smiled, and apologised for the fact I was robbing
her – and for the fact I would have to ensure she did not raise the alarm when
I left. She accepted that with more
grace than I probably expected – or deserved – and only aske that I did so in a
way where she would be comfortable.
Which I was
more than happy to oblige her with – I invited her to sit in an old wooden
armchair, and put her arms palm down on the armrests, before I bound her wrists
down to the armrests with rope. More rope
then went round her ankles to hold them together and to the side of the front
leg of the chair, before I tied rope round her waists to keep her against the
chair back, and around the seat of the chair.
I also needed
to make sure she was quiet, so I rolled up a white napkin and used that as a
cleave gag, before she saw me remove the brooch from the lapel of her jacket –
the brooch you see there now.
I left her to
be found by her husband, and made my way out of the flat. I kept the brooch from there until now – so
no, it’s not for sale as such.
It was about
that time I found myself near Sandwich, the home then of an Open golf course,
and it was during the Open that year I got into a farmhouse in the surrounding
area. I was fairly sure nobody would be
in the farmhouse at the time – but you know what they say about that sort of
thing.
In this case,
it was a twenty year old woman, who was wearing a white waistcoat over a
checked blouse with elbow sleeves, as well as a matching cap. She was also wearing blue hot pants, and
white knee length leather boots with a stack heel.
She was going
to call for help – until I came over and held her from behind, my hand over her
mouths I kept talking to her to calm her down and tell her nothing would happen
if she stopped trying to struggle. It
took a while, but eventually she did calm down as I told her to lie face down
on the couch, and but her hands behind her back.
I had a ball of
twine with me that particular day, so I crossed her wrists at the small of her
back, and then used the twine to secure them together. I then pulled her ankles back, and crossed
them before I wound the twine round and between her ankles to hold them
together as well. I could her the
leather squeaking as I did this – but hey, I am a gentleman, and did not take
advantage.
She then rolled
onto her side and watched me as I searched the room, finding some strongboxes
and opening them before I removed some cash and other coins, as well as some
jewellery. I have to admit, she was very
quiet – and even more so when I pushed a balled up handkerchief into her mouth,
and left her to struggle as I tried to leave.
Except – she
was not the only white booted woman to stay there, as I discovered when her
mother walked in as I was walking out.
She had long dark hair, and was wearing a white coat over a psychedelic
orange and pink print mini dress – and white go-go boots. She saw me, she saw her daughter – and then
she said she guessed she was going to have to be tied up and gagged as well.
So I got her to
show me round the house, finding more jewellery, before I bound her hands and
wrists in the same way as her daughter on the floor of the front room, and
stuffed a second handkerchief into her mouth before I made my escape. I could see they had some things to talk
about…
Now, in the
seventies there was a change in the people who used to live in Belgravia, as
more embassy staff started to bring their families to live with them. It also provided new opportunities, as I am
sure you can imagine, for a cat burglar getting more skilled in his chosen
profession.
The time I’m
thinking of right now I visited this flat on Eaton Square – a ground floor one,
and I managed to get in through the disused servant’s entrance. It was actually a very profitable visit – but
it was one of those where yet again I was not going to get out without
discovery.
In this case, it
was the daughter of the Embassy staff member who came home – a twenty year old
student with long dark hair, wearing a white jumper, a knee length tartan skirt
with a matching scarf round her neck, and knee length burgundy red boots with a
three inch stack heel and a one inch stack sole.
To say she was
surprised to see a young man standing there, dressed in black and with her
pearls in his gloved hand, was an understatement – and she would have screamed
if I had not hand gagged and held her until she calmed down. When she did, I apologised but said I need to
make sure she could not raise the alarm, before I took a length of cord from
the bag on herbed, and used it to secure her wrists together behind her back.
She then sat on
the bed, watching as I used more cord to secure her ankles together – which was
when we both heard the front door open and close, and an older woman call out. I grabbed her scarf and used it as a cleave
gag, her red lips on the red and black tartan as I secured the ends at the base
of her neck, and then stood by the door.
The woman who came
in was an older version of the young woman – obviously her mother - wearing a
white blouse and a long skirt – but she saw her daughter bound and gagged on
the bed, and bowed her head as she said pi should make sure she was the
same. She had not even looked at me, but
she stood there, with her hands behind her back, as I walked her to the bed and
took the cords out of my bag.
Once I had her
wrists secured, I sat her on the bed next to her daughter and secured her
ankles together, then I found a red scarf in a wardrobe and used that as a
cleave gag for her. But they both sat
there, not moving as I finished helping myself to the valuables and left them
to try and get free.
Such humility
in that sort of situation is very helpful on both sides, but sometimes you can
get into the most spirited of debates.
At around the same time as that visit, I found myself in Chelsea looking
through the jewellery collection of a young woman.
A young woman
who had been home when I had come in, and was now sitting on the bed. She was in her early twenties, and was
wearing a white silk blouse with a wide – a very wide collar. Her skirt came down to her knees, and was
made of brown corduroy, while her boots were made of the same shade of brown in
leather. They were skin-tight, and had a
three inch square stacked heel.
“Do you make a
career of breaking into flats,” she said as she tried to move her wrists – her
slim wrists, which I had secured together behind her back with thin rope before
I had made her sit on her bed. As she
shifted round, the corduroy rubbed on the pale blue coverlet, squeaking as she
did so.
“Actually, I
do, “ I said with a smile as I looked at her, “and today it is your turn to be
visited by me.”
“I’m flattered
– not,” she said quietly as I found her pearls, and placed them in my
knapsack. “But what gives you the right
to do that?”
“My charm and
manners?”
She laughed at
that as her earrings and rings went into my rucksack, before I checked the rest
of her drawers. I also emptied her notes
from her purse into my rucksack, before I took some more rope and secured her ankles
tightly together.
I still like
the way the material of boots can lighten under the tension of ropes – and in
the case of this young lady, I secured her legs together below her knees as
well, before I went behind her and tied some rope from her wrists to the
headboard.
She twisted
round, and then said “so I presume you are going to keep me quiet as well?”
“Can I trust
you not to scream for help as soon as I leave you alone?”
She looked
right at me, and said “of course you can.”
“Sorry – cannot
take the risk,” I said as I pushed a pair of her tights into her mouth, and
tied the legs round her head to ensure she was going to be quiet. I then left her there.
Funnily enough,
I saw her in her current position the other day – that as a senior MP. She still argues…
Let me end with
a cautionary tale. I had though this
particular model was fulfilling an obligation at a motor event, so I was
unprepared for the fact she might return to her flat earlier than expected.
She was still
dressed from her booking – the coat dress with a square neckline and the
ridiculous faux wing collar that came down to above her knees, the floppy hat
in the same design, the natural hose and the red go-go boots.
So when I
surprised her, I made her sit on a kitchen chair and used some red tape to make
sure she could not get off the chair – taping her wrists and arms to the back
of the chair, her ankles to the front legs of the chair, her upper legs to the
seat, her waist to the chair back and her upper arms to her sides. The finishing touch was the red tape that
covered her mouth as she watched me taking her valuables.
What really got
my goat was the bran od cigarettes on her dress and hat, and the message “How
Good It Is.” Even then, I doubted that
message – and while it was good for me, it was not so much for her.
More tea?
Return to the Memoirs of The Cat index