(no subject)
Woke up to find the back door wide open, and to the slow realisation that I've been robbed.
I guess that shows me to remember to lock the back door after I've shut it.
Missing:
- one lilac leather handbag (keys, purse w/ cards and smallish amount of cash, all the usual lipbalmy hairclippy handbag non-valuable essentials)
- one rucksack (no contents of note - my Cardiff A-Z I think but not sure)
- the fucking PEG BAG (wooden clothes pegs x numerous. And an extra back door key)
and, because whoever wanted my pegs didn't bother to shut the back door behind them:
- Edna (who hasn't been fully vaccinated yet, or spayed: she's booked in for the latter to take place on Monday. She's never been outside before)
I've caught a glimpse of her, in the scrubby overgrown wasteland area behind the back of my back garden, but she scarpered as soon as she saw me. Didn't make a concerted effort to follow her because I'm afraid of leaving the flat unattended (keys having been stolen an' all), I'm waiting for the letting agency to ring me back (they were busy when I rang them) and for the police to make a visit (which I'm not really counting on them actually doing, or not any time soon really, but you have to at least make an effort at believing in the system). And trespass, too, but I'd be tempted to ignore that were it not for the other things.
"She'll come back when she's hungry" is the presiding logic, but I wish she was here now, purr-vibrating in my lap and licking each of my fingers in turn. I'm sitting in the living room with the back door wide open for her and it's freezing.
I suppose I should be more freaked out by the fact that I was asleep in my bedroom with all the interconnecting doors open while whoever this was came into the flat and took the stuff, but having to make all the phonecalls (heddlu, card cancelling, letting agency) was genuinely more panic-inducing than the thought of my physical vulnerability has been (so far, anyway).
I feel so stupid. I feel so alone.
2007 does not seem to be my year.
I guess that shows me to remember to lock the back door after I've shut it.
Missing:
- one lilac leather handbag (keys, purse w/ cards and smallish amount of cash, all the usual lipbalmy hairclippy handbag non-valuable essentials)
- one rucksack (no contents of note - my Cardiff A-Z I think but not sure)
- the fucking PEG BAG (wooden clothes pegs x numerous. And an extra back door key)
and, because whoever wanted my pegs didn't bother to shut the back door behind them:
- Edna (who hasn't been fully vaccinated yet, or spayed: she's booked in for the latter to take place on Monday. She's never been outside before)
I've caught a glimpse of her, in the scrubby overgrown wasteland area behind the back of my back garden, but she scarpered as soon as she saw me. Didn't make a concerted effort to follow her because I'm afraid of leaving the flat unattended (keys having been stolen an' all), I'm waiting for the letting agency to ring me back (they were busy when I rang them) and for the police to make a visit (which I'm not really counting on them actually doing, or not any time soon really, but you have to at least make an effort at believing in the system). And trespass, too, but I'd be tempted to ignore that were it not for the other things.
"She'll come back when she's hungry" is the presiding logic, but I wish she was here now, purr-vibrating in my lap and licking each of my fingers in turn. I'm sitting in the living room with the back door wide open for her and it's freezing.
I suppose I should be more freaked out by the fact that I was asleep in my bedroom with all the interconnecting doors open while whoever this was came into the flat and took the stuff, but having to make all the phonecalls (heddlu, card cancelling, letting agency) was genuinely more panic-inducing than the thought of my physical vulnerability has been (so far, anyway).
I feel so stupid. I feel so alone.
2007 does not seem to be my year.