Why I fantasized about smashing someone's face in with the butt of a gun today

My mom told me today that the people who have been checking in on our house at Lasqueti found that someone broke into it. Yes, they came in on the second floor, broke the lock, helped themselves to some food and it looks like they slept the night there.
I knew this would happen.
And I'm sure it will happen again.
I went for a 13.5 mile run today to try and quell my rage. I kept thinking what I would have done had I been there and happened upon these motherfuckers. They know whose house it is. These fucking bastards, traipsing through the rooms, looking at my dad's things, staring at photos of me and Jay. What crossed their minds when they saw the three kites that my dad had hung up in the living room? His model bulldozer? The collection of bottles in the window sill? Did they take some of his clothes? Did they sleep in his bed? Were Garfield and Twiggy there and did they wonder who this strange person/these strange people were?
Things were already missing when my mom, Jay and I went up in August. Who are these people?
I'm going back up in October. I hope I see someone with my dad's pellet gun, or my fibreglass kayak paddle. Maybe, when I'm towering over them and they're lying on the ground, trying to protect their kidneys they'll look up and recognize me from my grad photo on my dad's mantle.