That's a low-down dirty shame. I wouldn't have expected that in Santa Cruz, a sleeper surfer/artist's paradise.
In New Orleans I had a place that kept getting burglarized, but I had my revenge.
A well-wisher had gifted me a monster vacuum-tube TV, barely liftable, and, unable to understand that I really didn't want a TV, wouldn't take no for an answer. So, the two of us hefted it into my hatchback and I waddled home with tailpipe dragging.
It got one channel, but only if you knew the secret steps of air conditioner 'on,' fifteen minutes' warm-up, expert tuning, then fiddling two or three interactive controls to stop the rolling screen.
Revenge: My newly-made homemade burglar alarm's racket put the burglars in such a state that all they got was the TV(:-), an 8-track player/120Hz hum-generator with a negative SNR, some booze, and sore backs.
I didn't begrude them the liquor. I kept it for guests and they were 'guests' after all, invited or not. Besides, after examining their 'haul,' they needed it. Mi junk es su junk--come again!
Cheers, James Arthur