We had a little excitement over the weekend when ADT called to inform us of a potential break-in at Sligo. As luck would have it, we were close and able to meet the police at the property. Also as luck would have it, I was about three beers and two glasses of wine into the afternoon (before you judge, it was my girlfriend’s birthday and I don’t drink like that all of the time…I mean, I might do that every other day, but definitely not every day) and was looking especially cute. I only mention that last part about looking cute because, as it turns out, the responding officers were extremely good looking and it was just really a nice chance to meet the friendly neighborhood enforcers of the law, possibly exchange numbers,
find out if they’re single, and overall get a really nice sense of community. I should mention that I did not drive myself, Marcus was with me and he was sober and even he admitted the police were attractive because he’s that confident in his masculinity and our relationship. Also, my going on and on about exactly just how cute these police officers were had nothing to do with my alcohol consumption.
To get to the real meat of the story (see what I did there?), it turns out it was a false alarm or, if someone had been trying to get in, they were gone by the time we got there. Unfortunately, someone shattered a storm door on the Cottage House, I’m guessing in an attempt to get in. The best part about that is one entire side of the Cottage House is covered with a tarp and the perpetrator(s) could just as easily have lifted the tarp and entered that way but, I suppose criminals aren’t always known for their common sense.
It isn’t surprising that people are still coming onto the property. It has been vacant for so long and the Cottage House was clearly a place that squatters would frequent. From day one I have been concerned that as work starts, people will come along and trash what we have done. At the moment, one or two more broken window panes won’t hurt but once the real work starts and they start messing with my home, well, then I may have to send a petrified British soldier after their asses.