Monday

The financial situation has become rather dire and I fear my abilities, especially in light of recent events, are not enough to keep us all afloat.

So, I have decided, reluctantly, to take it upon myself to secure extra work. To moonlight, if you will pardon the reference. I would rely upon word of mouth to assist me; however, the likelihood that such recourse will prove fruitful is highly dubious at this stage. Thus, I shall go surreptitiously in search of casual, piecemeal employment.

I have also decided to chronicle my endeavors, both the job search and, once procured, the work itself. Such a case file, or journal if you'd prefer, will assist me to better actualize my strengths and weaknesses.

Besides, it works for Oprah.

I've found what I've been looking for already. Should be rather easy.

I'd read in the local newspaper how a family is concerned that vandals are targeting them. Not just any vandals, but pet vandals. Now, while that may sound ludicrous, here are the facts as reported in the news:

The Freemans, a middle-aged, affluent and heretofore childless couple living in the wealthy heart of suburbia, have recently adopted a young lad of five. Hoping to ease his transition into their family, they decided to buy a puppy. Within a week, the animal disappeared without a trace. Faced with an understandably distraught child, they then purchased a new puppy, which likewise vanished.

Still wishing to help the child, who I imagine was severely traumatized at that point, they bought him his next pet of choice – two, pure bred, long-eared rabbits, the likes of which he had seen on television– and built an elaborate hutch behind the two car garage. Upon their arrival home from an afternoon at the beach, they discovered that the hutch had been demolished and the rabbits taken.

At this juncture, the police were called in, but could find no other signs of break-in or theft. A new, more elaborate security system was installed, complete with motion sensors along the house perimeter.

A month later, they chose a kitten for the boy, which they kept housebound in order to curtail the possibility of it straying. One night, after hearing a disturbance along the hallway, the parents found a window broken and the kitten gone. They are asking that anyone with information come forward and aid them in their desire to find the malicious culprits.

I have called the Freemans and described my impressive, albeit for the most part fabricated, credentials. A day of investigation should prove all that is necessary for this. I will be meeting with the father tomorrow, whilst the child and his mother are out purchasing canaries.

I met with Charles Freeman at eleven o'clock, as requested. The lovely two-story brick house is situated in the middle of a cul-de-sac. To the left are the Rappaports and to the right the Mansons. I spoke with both just prior to my departure. Neither have pets; both have much older children.

Mr. Freeman led me through the house, decorated exquisitely in creams and browns. Suffice it to say, Mother would feel at home here. The exception is the child's room, which is covered in dinosaur murals, mostly of T. rex, apparently at the child's exuberant request. None of the windows can be opened from the outside, I have been assured, and all the doors are fixed with deadbolts. Yet, it is from the inside that all but the rabbits have disappeared.

Behind the house is a kidney-shaped swimming pool with an elaborate rock formation hiding the hoses for the adjoining Jacuzzi, a pool house, which doubles as a workshop for the father, and a rather steep hill. The incline is at approximately a forty-five degree angle, and leads to a paved road with large, elaborate homes opposite the hill face.

Hardly conducive for resident vandals.

At that point, Mrs. Freeman, a pleasant woman of about thirty-five, arrived and explained that the birdcage was too heavy and large for her car and would be delivered, with the birds, tomorrow morning. The Freemans wish to put the birds in the family room – a large, sunny room in the back of the ground floor.

All the facts and impressions jotted down in my notebook, I departed with the promise of extensive research.

As predicted, I have spent the entire day scouring all the references at my disposal. I believe I have found which reprehensible monster is responsible for the attacks on the Freeman family.

Now, I shall seek fortitude in the manner traditional for those of my profession.

And a spot of darts.

I went to the Freemans' late in the morning, as per prior agreement. Both parents were eager to hear what I had to say and led me into the formal living room, away from the child. Uncomfortable with the reception they would most likely grant my somewhat outlandish conclusion, I began by reiterating the facts and evidence. Impressions I planned to leave as justification for my decision.

As I paused to breathe and finish my report, a loud crash came from the family room, where the birdcage had been set up. We three rushed to the scene only to find it toppled and the room in a state of disarray. It was not, as Mrs. Freeman had implied, a simple birdcage. It was an elaborate aviary of wrought iron, measuring a meter and a half in height and, lying there as it were, looked to be almost as wide, with enough room for a flock of zebra finches to fly without injury.

Or perhaps that is simply what shock does to perception. For as the parents stood there bemoaning yet another loss, I stared in disbelief at the culprit: a five year old boy with tousled strawberry blonde hair, a splattering of freckles across the bridge of his nose and yellow feathers poking out from between his teeth. He quickly swallowed the evidence.

Things blurred before my eyes as the parents consoled their "child" and then looked to me for an answer.

I suggested they not buy any more pets.