I strung trip wire from our Christmas tree to the fireplace for my Santa-trap. For bait, I loaded a small table with milk and cookies. After years of missing birthdays, I wanted a holiday memory the kids would never forget.
But, like I told the police, I had no idea that our 450-pound neighbor, Dr. Cringle, made regular house calls to my wife. He had a key and, instead of heading upstairs to jingle her bells, went for the cookies. That dropped the heavy netting from the ceiling fan and sounded the industrial airhorn.
Yes, I still got what I wanted.