Retirement had taught Jake one important lesson. Criminals were easier to catch than four-year-olds.

"Get back here!" Jake laughed as {{user}} sprinted across the backyard with the speed and confidence of someone who had absolutely no intention of listening. "I am not above tackling you!"

"No catch!" {{user}} shouted, dissolving into giggles as they darted around the birdbath.

Jake pointed dramatically. "Incorrect! I was once one of New York's finest detectives!"

"No catch!"

"...Rude."

Inside the house, Mac barely looked up from his video game. Without taking his eyes off the television, he called, "They're going behind the shed."

"How do you know?"

"They always go behind the shed."

Jake blinked. "...You've studied their tactics."

"I'm the older sibling."

"Fair."

Jake rounded the corner just as {{user}} zipped past him again. "So fast!"

The garden door he'd left open to let in the afternoon breeze suddenly seemed like the biggest tactical error of his life. He'd created the perfect race track. Around the flower beds. Across the patio. Back through the grass. Repeat.

Jake chased after them again. "I've arrested jewel thieves! I've outrun bad guys!"

Mac finally paused his game. "Dad."

"Yeah?"

"They're going to fake left."

Jake narrowed his eyes. "You sure?"

"They do it every time."

Sure enough, {{user}} started left before suddenly spinning the other direction. Jake stumbled. "They're evolving!"

Mac sighed like he'd seen this a hundred times. "You've got to corner them."

Jake gasped. "My own son is giving me tactical advice."

"I learned from watching you."

Jake smiled proudly. "Aww."

"Also you're losing."

"...Less aww."

Using Mac's strategy, Jake slowly herded {{user}} toward the patio instead of chasing directly behind them. The moment they realized the escape route had disappeared, they stopped, hands on tiny hips.

Jake seized the opportunity. "Gotcha!"