The first thing I ever stole was a cat. I learnt soon after that it was better to take things that a) you really want b) do not decompose.
It happened when I was fourteen. I remember it because we had recently come back from a family holiday on a farm in France. While I was out playing on the farm I had seen the local dog chase down and kill a rabbit, ripping it apart in front of me and then chewing on the greasy entrails. I guess it had something to do with my decision to take the cat, but even in hindsight I couldnt tell you the reasoning.
On the way home from school one afternoon soon after I saw a cat get hit by a car. It was on the path in front of me so I barked like a dog at it. It looked at me quizzically as if to say: What do you mean, bark? Youre clearly not a dog. A spark of a moment later it darted out onto the street like a tortoiseshell rocket. It went between the wheels of one car with the skill of a ninja, into the oncoming lane where the bumper of a Mazda popped its head. The body cart-wheeled for second landing belly up where another Mazdas tyre did a full length, neck to tail. My fourteen year old eyes widened and glazed over immediately. My stomach turned over and leapt with joy. My sphincter released a burst of gas.
i'm going to birmingham tomorrow to see troubadour's house. before that i'm off to waterloo iMax to see the third installment of the superman trilogy. yes third. geeks know what i mean.