INTRUSION

Now here's a scary tweet. We had an intruder break into our back yard last night whom I spotted as he reached the back door. Mr. Twister's threats were enough to roust him to leave. We think it was a drunk rather than determined burglar, and resolved to call the police first for any future incursions.

Further conclusions: it wasn't Robert Downey Jr., once known for breaking into the wrong houses, since thankfully he's cleaned up. Plus this isn't Malibu. Far from it. Actually, had we called the police and, truthfully, claimed the intruder was lunging at our back door right now and we didn't know whether or not he was armed, that merely would have increased chances for a dispatch, not secured them. Our megalopolis is not exactly generous with the civic services.

Overall scenario: the dogs remained upstairs fast asleep with Mr. Twister. I, with my usual insomnia, was downstairs reading pg. 703 of "Winston Churchill, the Last Lion, Vol.3, Defender of the Realm" (shout out to Niagara, fellow William Manchester/Winnie enthusiast) when I heard noise, spied the intruder with his hands against the window adjacent the door, and as hurriedly as a recovering broken patella could take me, ran upstairs to inform Mr. Twister. After it was all over we both had insomnia...

photos: at top, our now 100-year-old farmhouse in the city during the 1990s, at night. The city since removed the flowering cherry in front, and we planted a Norfolk Pine in its stead; directly above, the smudged palm and thumbprint of the intruder, photographed at night for authenticity of dread...