Conrad had spent the last month examining the estate: casing the joint, if you will. He had slowly driven by it so many times in so many cars from so many angles, that he was sure that he’d memorized the locations of every window, every security camera, and every possible escape route.
Tonight was the gala. Conrad knew that the house would be empty until midnight. He would be out of there by 11:30.
He parked his car around the corner, and snuck around the back way, staying in the security blind spots. Conrad paused behind a bush for a moment and saw what he deemed to be his golden opportunity: a second-floor window was slightly ajar. All he had to do was climb the trellis, sidestep on the ledge for about 15 feet and he’d be in.
It took him 90 seconds. Conrad landed in the room, and breathed a sigh of relief. He noticed that the rooms were all illuminated by nightlights; he even wouldn’t need to use the nightvision. He also noticed that the house had the faint smell of ammonia, as though the floors were just cleaned. He thought it funny, as the place was carpeted as far as he could see.
Conrad stalked into the hall and saw eight doorways. Only one was closed.
Bingo.
Conrad crept down the hall, and tried the doorknob; it wasn’t even locked. He slowly opened the door.
There, he saw four dozen cats.
They finished eating him by 11:30.