The cat burglar's apartment

Gary's one bedroom apartment matched the outside of his drab and poorly looked after building. Located on the second floor, I followed him up the stairs as he got out his keys. He opened the door and stood back, motioning me to enter with a big smile on his face.

"After you," he said. I was shocked speechless at the total disaster; newspapers and magazines strewn all over the floor, an empty pizza box in the corner, dirty dishes and crusty old cans of dog food on the kitchen counter, several pairs tennis shoes in the living room. A dirty, fowl, musty smell lingered in the air that made me recoil.

Quickly, he pushed aside papers from his couch making room for us to sit. I imagined him spread out on that couch, watching tv or taking a nap using the garbage as his blanket. I thought it was so weird. I immediately plastered a counterfeit smile on my face, something I had learned to depend on to escaped the reality of certain situations. I thought about this cat burglar and how he had to be so well organized in order to burglarize million dollar homes in Beverly Hills and get away with the loot. Here he was living in complete filth. Why would he risk his life like that to live like this? 

At home with a cat burgular

When I finally reached Gary in the parking lot he said “let me make this up to you. I have some steaks defrosted at home and can put them on the BBQ  Besides, you've never seen my place. And we can bring the dogs inside with us.”

I may have been disappointed but I was still hungry. So I followed him this time to an ugly stucco beige colored two-story apartment building in the West Valley. It was the worst looking building on the busy street lined with tall palm trees. The building’s gardens were practically dead and the paint was peeling. I still had high hopes that his unit would be well-kept, clean and cozy. Maybe it would be filled with the jewels he stole as a cat burglar!

Sushi

After eating at just about every steak house in the San Fernando Valley, I finally convinced Gary to let me pick a restaurant for a change. I suggested sushi and he reluctantly agreed. As dusk was setting with a brilliant red, pink and blue sunset, we got in our cars and he followed me to a little hole in the wall on Ventura Boulevard that I knew served the freshest tuna in town.

It was a tiny place with a lively sushi bar that catered to a local crowd of loyal diners. Unlike Gary’s steakhouses, this restaurant was brightly lit with rock n’ roll music blaring in the background. Behind the chefs, the menu hung on the wall painted on wooden slates in black letters and corresponding red Japanese lettering. Fresh fish was kept in a glass display case on top of the wooden bar where Sushi Chefs worked their magic for the guests. There were a few individual tables but most patrons preferred to sit at the bar. 

Steak

One evening after a romp at the park with the girls, Gary asked me to dinner. I did not yet know that he was strictly a meat and potatoes man. I quickly learned that Gary frequented those steak houses that were so popular in the 1980s. 

I had not entered a dimly lit steak house for years, opting instead for restaurants that served more healthy choices. Gary's idea of a good food centered around a raw steak with salad dripping in fattening blue cheese dressing and huge baked potatoes heaped in real butter. These establishments were always filled with neighborhood drunks that made me feel extremely uncomfortable by standing too close, breathing their awful smelling breath in my face. Gary was in his element. I thought what the heck, opposites attract, right?

Dangerous park games

Blondie was so cleaver that she actually created some of her own games at the dog park. Her new friendship with Sheba seemed to be giving her more confidence. One thing the girls liked to do was chase dogs that were chasing balls. The bigger and meaner the dog the better. And if Blondie could sneak up on a big nasty canine just as they snatched the ball and get some of their tail fur in her mouth, score! Sheba egged her new friend on, encouraging her to find the baddest dog in the park to hustle. I didn’t like it at all. Gary thought it was amusing.

Another game she seemed to love was to sauntered up to other dogs, big dogs, and growled at them then ran as fast as she could behind Sheba when they turned around. This one made me especially nervous because it could get end up with serious consequences. Maybe her new friendship wasn't that good for her after-all. Sheba seemed to bring out the "bad-ass" in my Blondie. I had never seen this side of her before. So I concentrated on keeping Blondie moving and away from Sheba to make sure my dog wouldn’t end up as supper for some big pit bull. What I didn't realize was the wisdom of Blondie's actions. I didn't think back then that Sheba's owner, Gary, might  bring out the "bad-ass" in me!

Dogs will be dogs

My Blondie and Gary's Sheba became fast friends. Blondie, my pound mutt, had long blonde hair that would blow in the breeze as she trotted by my side. In the winter, I dressed her in a pink turtleneck sweater that she loved. Sheba was a beautiful example of a pure bred Dobie with her muscular frame and powerful, toned body ripped with muscles that actually bulged when she moved, showing every detail of her thighs, chest and shoulders. Her pointed cropped ears stood straight up and her subbed tail wagged only when Gary spoke. Carrying herself with complete self assurance, she acted as if she owned the park and everything in it.

Sheba looked at once menacing and loving at the same time. Gary rarely had to correct her or put forward any commands. They seemed to have a relationship that went beyond words; it was as if Sheba could heard her owner's very thoughts and act accordingly. I never saw her growl or snarl but I could imagine how scary she could be if someone happened to run into her on a dark street. There was no messing with Sheba. 

Blondie and Sheba were quite a pair. They didn’t play with the other dogs at the park. Oh sure they would greet other canines but neither was into playing with a ball or catching a Frisbee. They stood on the sidelines, watching the other dogs run and jump. It was as if playing was somehow beneath the two of them. Instead, they stood together, side by side, looking as though they were laughing at the other canines behaving like mere dogs.

The lookout dog

Selecting a Doberman Pinscher as his lookout was the best choice Gary could have made. Originally used as guard dogs, watch dogs or police dogs, Dobermans are among the most common pets, well known as an intelligent, alert, and loyal companion dog. Gary proudly shared everything he knew about them.

“Dobermans were created by a German tax collector named Karl Friedrich Louis Dobermann,” he enthusiastically explained. “This guy Dobermann had to travel to many dangerous places in his job, high crime areas, so he bred a dog for protection.”

I was completely fascinated by Gary. He was handsome, intelligent and loved his dog. It didn’t take long for me to realize that he was a hustler at heart. Growing up in an upper middle class neighborhood did not put me in contact with many Cat Burglars. I knew that he was not someone I could introduce to my parents. I was not ready to give up my dream of marrying someone my parents would accept. I was also too afraid of being hurt again like I had been with Bobby so I didn’t want to begin a serious relationship of any kind, keeping my distance emotionally. Our dates were never planned or organized; we would just get together if we ran into each other at the dog park.