January 13: life as a cat burglar

Imagine the fun you would have as a cat burglar. Not a common or garden burglar but a cat burglar. As a cat burglar you would need, probably, another parallel life, a life you led by day. At night you would be a cat burglar. By day you could be a scholar. The more your field of scholarship is arcane, the better. As a scholar, you would wear a lot of tweed. Cat burglars, of course, wear tight, black trousers (they are almost tights they are so close-fitting) and a black and red hooped tee-shirt, as well as the mask. As a scholar, you could specialise in certain tongues of the ancient world. I would favour Ancient Sumerian. As a scholar-cum-cat burglar your life would be highly regulated. Your fidelity to rigorous routine would be legendary. Your preferred wine would probably be bordeaux, from the left bank, a Chateau Latour or a Haut-Brion on special occasions, though you would be mostly abstemious. As a cat burglar you would need to keep trim. Leaping from balcony to drain pipe; from cariatide to atlantide; from gutter to roof-top, all illumintaed by nothing more than a crescent moon is stock-in-trade to a competent cat burglar. Mind you, you would probably be unconventional as far as cat burglars go. A maverick really. You would not conform to cat burgling orthodoxy. As a scholar of the Ancient Sumerian language, it may be come as a surprise that you are no traditionalist in the cat burgling firmament, but it is a shock that nobody will ever experience because behind that black shiny latex mask (you have a number of these masks that you keep in a secret part of your study lined with Ancient Sumerian tomes) your identity is and would forever remain a mystery.


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