Molly leaned against the kitchen counter, eyeing the stack of colorful party hats and crepe paper streamers blowing lazily in the breeze. The house was a hive of activity, with tiny ballerinas and superheroes chasing each other through the living room. Across from her, Bill poured himself a cup of instant coffee from the steaming pot. "Alright, what's the plan, genius?" Molly asked, drumming her fingers on the counter. She worked the catering angle, had some in with the catering company that handled most kids' parties in the area. "Well, we know the birthday boy's friends are all going to be bouncing off the walls with sugared-up energy. That's our distraction. Meanwhile, we slip in, grab the presents, and I'll hotwire the cake's fondant to keep the grownups occupied." Molly snorted. "The cake's fondant? Really?" Bill shrugged. "What? It's a thing now, trust me. Adds a little misdirection to the overall heist. We get the presents, make our escape, and voila. The birthday boy wakes up the next morning to find all his gifts stolen, and the parents are left wondering if they somehow bought into a time-share or something." Molly shook her head. "And what's with the cat suit?" Bill set the coffee cup down, undisturbed. "It's not a cat suit, Molly. It's a miniature tiger onesie with Velcro paws. More intimidating, not as cute as cat snuggies. Also, we need to blend in, dress the part. Party favorites are tutus, animal prints, and pastel-colored ninja costumes. We've got to give the illusion of party participation." Molly scrutinized Bill's outfit. "You know, for once, I'm going to agree with you. But seriously, what if this party is some sort of trap? Some parents out there have a lot of money, they've got people on the payroll." Bill yawned, patted the tiger costume hanging from his hook. "Let them think we're here to serve cake and cheerfully take pictures with a bunch of screaming infants. I've seen the guest list; these are upper-middle-class parents who think 'fritter' is a health food. We're being invited into their paranoia fantasy, they just don't realize it yet." The timer on the timer went off, a bright shriek pierced the air, and Molly winced. "Game on. That's gotta be the hour-long dance party segment." Bill grabbed his mask. "Right on cue. Time to put our party skills on display." He ducked behind the stack of cake stands. "You start wrapping presents. Wrap the wrong ones. I'll get the drinks and generally incriminate myself. This job's gonna be a piece of cake." Molly rolled her eyes as Bill cackled into his mask, the cat suit (miniature tiger onesie) wobbling precariously outside. "Cake and games. This job is a child's play."