a Theme Thursday Tipitiwitchet

Outside, a cardinal was flapping at the window,
excited by its own reflection and stupidly attacking.
Inside, a hooded man bent over the drawer and pulled out a
crimson velvet bag and dumped the contents onto the dresser.
A scratch on the door, and the rattle of keys.
He scooped the valuables back into the pouch,
noticing a large ruby.
Flushed, the burglar rushed to the window,
threw open the sash and climbed onto the balcony,
frightening the cardinal off.
Quickly, the burglar pulled down the window
and peeled the hood off, tossing it to the red dusk sky.
Night was falling fast, and it was falling hard—as was attested
to the fact that the burglar lost his footing on the fire escape
and plunged over the rail onto Cabernet street.
He landed in a pile of rubbish from the burger joint,
a conglomeration of glass and old ketchup bottles.
Glass shards stuck out from his leg, and he couldn't
tell blood from catsup. An orange tabby purred and licked him, preferring the blood.
It grinned sardonically and dug ungroomed nails into his pant leg.
The cat thief howled bloody murder, heard from above, and the upstairs
victim was out on the balcony with a pistol firing rounds.
“Gadzooks!” the thief turned tail and sped down the alleyway.
Out on the darkening street he plunged into a large women named
Sacajawea wearing a Cincinnati baseball jersey who grabbed
and kissed him smearing scarlet lipstick over his face.
“Be my Valentine!” she sang to him.
He blushed and made his excuses, turning to the street and rushing off.
A block down, ruddy from exertion, the burglar ducked into
another secluded alley and fell wheezing to the brick wall.
With blood still dripping down his leg, and the local kitties
stirring, he pulled the pouch from his pocket and peered inside,
plucking out the ruby jewel; its sparkles threw pretend
pyrotechnics into the alley's shadows.
“Hello, Red.”
The deep voice sent shudders down the burglar's spine, and he dropped
the goods into a puddle, the ruby perched at the edge of his fingertips,
which paled visibly as blood ran from his skin.
The speaker, a tall man in a carmine cape, hovered around the corner into
view and swiftly wisped the jewel from Red's weak clutch.
Then the tall, bloodless corpse bent and drove his wine stained fangs into
the burglar's neck draining the last drop, and letting the
man formerly known as Red drop to the gutter ironically white.
“Crime never pays,” laughed the
crimson caped ruby raking Red eradicator,
then he swirled into the fogs and disappeared saying,
“This will put me back in the black.”