Even cute little kittens think livejournal is crap right now.

grr, at LJ. and DJ. and Blogger. and opendiary.

bah.

time to get a notepad.

How to Live in a Treehouse



The first thing I look at is the father's shoe size. I take a hard look. Clothing that's too large can be adjusted, but pinched feet and blisters are unacceptable.



Surveillance will last three or four weeks. It's just a taste at this stage, to ensure that the family has regular habits. Also, to get some idea of those habits. Once you know their television schedule, you can begin to feel at home.



With the Wests I know that the kids watch Xena, and that the father wishes he were watching Xena. I know that Who Wants to Be a Millionaire and That '70s Show take place of honor on Tuesday evenings, Malcolm in the Middle on Wednesday evenings, Friends on Thursday.



The only thing to watch out for is the ad breaks.



They've never caught me so far. I'm a professional. I'm very good at what I do. I never enter the house when anyone's home, but I have sometimes found it necessary to avail myself of facilities -- of the garden tap, say, or the toolshed. The closest they came to catching me was on one of these occasions, when I was startled by a neighbor's cat.



Occasionally I'll sweep the garden for them, or clean their roof.



I leave no tracks.



The dog has become accustomed to me. Normally I avoid families with dogs, but the Wests were too good a chance to pass up. They're absent-minded and guaranteed to be out of the house for most of the day; and they have a very nice home. And the father's shoes fit me perfectly.



He has bad taste in ties, though.



If I meet someone I smile and say I am part of the family.



They smile back.



If anything is said to the family, confusion, not suspicion, follows.