He'd also do this thing where he'd run right up to people's front door, make the sensor lights come on, and I'd have to traipse up there into the light, looking like a goose, and I'd be just about to get him when he'd do a Benji Marshall step, and whiz past me again.
Truth be told, I was angry. Very angry. I was fantasising about the punishing wrath that would be quenched when I caught him. RSPCA, avert your eyes. He knew it too. He could tell that my plaintive calls were actually thinly veiled death threats. He reached that point where he's like "well, I'm in for it anyway, I may as well just live it up and do as much naughty, fun stuff as I can before I'm caught."
Anyways, after running about the streets in my slippers in the dark for a fair while, what finally worked was a bit of reverse psychology. I turned around, and started walking home, pretending not to care. He eventually followed. And in he dashed, through the gate, and ka-lank! I locked it. And he finally came face to face with his judge.
What happened next is unfit for printing.