Confessions of a Cat Burglar

Publisher Marketing: Once I graduated college my life fell into a rut --- my father's rut. The only way out of the rut was excitement. During the day I worked with my dad at his insurance agency. He knew I was bored in the office and sent me to take photos of insurance losses. I also took pictures of expensive items that his clients insured. Once I saw the valuables and how carelessly they were kept; a seed began to grow in my mind. I fantasized about breaking in and taking the items. It was like a romance and I was intrigued enough to look for easy entry of the client's properties. I knew if they had dogs, security systems and deadbolts. I learned their schedules as I cased their homes. Once the situation was right I entered the homes and took what was insured. I didn't want to harm them physically or financially. I was drunk on adrenaline. All the wrong things I did went against my upbringing. The crimes made me feel like I had a secret identity, like a comic book villain. The difference was that there was no super hero to catch me. I was the one who would follow my own crimes and help the victims with their claims. I was the good guy and the bad guy. At first I thought the expensive items interested me, but soon I realized it was the thrill of the narrow escape that had me hooked. Contributor Bio:  Turcotte, Gary My father had abandoned the family, all I had was his name. Shortly afterward my mother was institutionalized. My aunt kept me until the state's money ran out. I felt pushed to get a job, rent a home and get married. All of that didn't work out for me, and I walked away with nothing. After my divorce, I lived in a friend's basement. It was 1992 and Vanilla Ice had a hit record. I dated a young girl that dreamed of being in a band and dance on MTV. I was quick with rhymes, wrote a few songs and landed gigs. Things looked like they were turning around. Time passed and I rarely visited my sedated mother. I didn't know what drove her insane, until she passed away. I never knew she was a psychic until I inherited her gift on the eve of her death. I had been drugging and drinking when the gift came, I was convinced that I too had gone insane. I was in uncharted waters and the songs I wrote were the fortunes of people that touched me in the crowds. I decided to keep the gift a secret.