That time we weren't really robbed

A loud crash from downstairs sent me and Devon scurrying out of bed last night at 1 am. The crash was followed by another, then another, like someone tossing our stuff around the kitchen.

The cat was with us, so for once, she wasn't being a furry little jerk. 

Devon grabbed his sword (yeah, for real), and I grabbed my trusty craft scissors, because those things could gouge an eye out, at least.

I cursed the fact that I had worn nothing to bed but a t-shirt and underwear, like some horror-movie noob. It was like I was asking to be a blood-stain on my own walls. 

We inched toward the stairs before we heard another crash. With bated breath we waited, but everything was silent for many long seconds.

I dialed 911 but didn't press send. Devon yelled at our thieves to get out of our house, and we pondered what to do next. 

We eventually decided he was going to go downstairs with his sword and his mad ninja skills. He worked at Ren Faire when he was in college, so it would be fine, I convinced myself. I was going to wait upstairs and defend the spawn. 

I felt like a dirtbag letting him wade into battle alone, but I knew I might need to gouge someone's eyes out while I bought enough time to call for help. Aurelia's total crap at being a ninja. 

In the worst case scenario, I would avenge him. With craft scissors.  

Then Devon saw it -- the shelf that had crashed to the floor. The mounting tape had slowly given way, dropping his wallet and our pocket knives and keys to the ground before it finished its descent. 

Embarrassing, but still better than a home invasion.