Crime scene

I call to see friends on Wednesday in the late afternoon.  They live in an inner suburb not too far from the CBD; it is a very old suburb with single fronted houses in a row along a narrow little street. The front garden is defined by a tree in the left corner.

I lift the latch on the front gate and step up onto the veranda; the inside front door is open and assume Jane is home. I press the doorbell.  No response.  The screen door is unlocked and I walk into the hallway calling out as I slowly make my way down the hall.  Jane seems to have done some decorating, lovely new prints and a new door in the hallway.  Still walking and calling out I move towards the back of the house.  Something doesn't look right.  There is a bathroom on the left and glancing in I see a puppy sitting in a basket.

Oh no!

I am in the wrong house.

I beat a hasty retreat out the front door and go to the next door house which is the right house. Steve answers the door and feeling suitably foolish about my blunder I express my surprise about the house next door being open and apparently unoccupied. Steve doesn't have an explanation and Jane is not home from work.  I leave a message with Steve and leave.

The sequel to this story explains the open front door.  The house had been robbed shortly before my arrival.  The thieves broke in through the back of the house, collected booty along the way and left via the front door.

Just another crime statistic; an unpleasant experience for the residents but an occurrence which is all too commonplace in this city.