Define “Theft”

Is it stealing if you take back things others took from you?

Dude and his girlfriend got into an argument out at her place. Dude called- yes, really- asking me to come get him so the cops she called wouldn’t take him to jail. Then he called back that he was staying there for the night and leaving in the morning.

In the morning he sent a polite text that he was packed up and ready to go, but thanks anyway for my help.

I texted back asking if the stuff missing from my property was in his packed car.

He didn’t answer.

When they left my house on the final eviction notice, they took almost all the furniture (except an old couch the dog puked on, gosh darn it) and quite a lot of artwork. I sent through my attorney a list of things I wanted back “or else” there would be a criminal prosecution.

Then that phone call came, and suddenly I had her address. Well……

A friend and I drove out there. Yep, half my worldly goods were sitting on her front porch. So we did what came natural. I have back all but two of my important artwork pieces, the big rocking chair that Jack’s friends gave him, our expanding ladder (and essential piece of homesteading equipment), and assorted other goods that make me happy.

The one thing we did not see was the large riding mower, known as a Zero Turn. The one thing girlfriend reported stolen was the Zero Turn. My lawyer called to ask me if I had reclaimed it. Said they were “tracks in the snow around where it was kept.” Which cracked us up because girlfriend’s first attempt to reclaim my stuff from it being taken away from her was to say she knew we had been there because there were footprints in the snow.

Yes, dear. Okay. So anyway, of all the things we took, they reported something that we didn’t take (that wasn’t there in the first place) as stolen. So now my lawyer says we won’t prosecute for theft if they return the remaining two sentimental paintings and produce a police report saying they reported the zero turn stolen.

I asked his logic for this and he said, “Because lying to the police is in itself a felony. Leverage.”

Ah. My lawyer is very smart. So is my friend who went with me to reclaim stuff. We successfully tied that very long ladder to a not-that-long car and as we drove away with everything (confidently heading in the wrong direction for five miles before turning around) she said, “Two academic women can still manage a ladder. Score one for the girls.”

Yep.

We technically have court tomorrow, so I’ll let you know if anything happens because somebody stole something, and who the court decides stole from whom.

Meanwhile, I am rehanging some artwork.

Occupied: Day 58 The Light at the end of the Tunnel

I almost felt sorry for the Legal Aid lawyer. As she cross-examined me during our Jan. 5 eviction hearing, she asked about the feces found on the porch Dec. 5. (She did not ask about the feces found inside the house in October.)

“As I understand it the house is in a wilderness area. Would it not be possible that another animal could have deposited on the porch?”

“It’s a screened-in porch, ma’am.” I tried to keep my voice free of sarcasm.

Her face was a study in that moment. From behind her the guy I am trying to evict said, “It’s got a dog door.”

The lawyer made a quelling motion to him behind her back, but I couldn’t help myself. “The dog door is nailed shut.”

The lawyer blinked. I almost felt sorry for her.

He was evicted. Further, in an agreement our two lawyers cobbled together very quickly, he waived his right to an appeal in return for me not pursing monetary damages or a protective order.

Lest anyone think this “no money just go” deal is too soft on the guy, welcome to the joys of circuit court appeal. It cost me $1K to get a lawyer to run this eviction. It cost me $25 to file for the sheriff to attend the eviction on Jan. 16, assuming this guy stays that long. But circuit court would cost four times that, and we would do the whole thing again. In April or May, because that’s how far out it is to get on the circuit court docket. Meanwhile, he would continue living on my property.

My biggest fear was that he would be allowed to appeal without posting bond. In order to take a case from general to circuit court, you must pay a percentage of the costs that the general court found you liable for in the first place. But indigent people can request those be waived and appeal without costs. My attorney asked the judge not to waive them; the judge calculated what they would come to and he dude’s attorney said “Obviously he can’t pay that, which means you are limiting his rights to appeal.”

I will never know if this was part of his theatrical approach, or a moment of inspiration, but my attorney turned to me in a sudden movement. “Would you drop the protective order hearing and the costs if he waives appealing?”

“In a heartbeat,” I said without thinking. He rolled his eyes and turned back to the judge.

“I heard,” said the judge. Then he spoke to the Legal Aid lawyer. “Do you want to confer with your client?”

Ten minutes later, it was all over. So they tell me. At this point, I’ll believe it’s over when he is gone and the locks are changed.

But maybe, just maybe, this is the beginning of the ending of this all-too-common story about trying to evict someone? Time to start looking for the appropriate publisher.