In about 1958 I bought a Beretta .22 from a college buddy. He was from Louisiana, where guns were a little less horrible than in New York.
Similar:
https://media.joesalter.com/ca/large/C1427/C1427-02.jpg
In New York, if you had a handgun, you were either a cop or a crook, so I kept it hidden under a drawer in my dorm room. I finally smuggled it home and used to shoot it in my basement when my mother wasn't home.
Got married, kept it in a bedroom side table.
Stolen, along with some jewelry and cash. Cops found the thief because, as a garbage collector, he could go in back of the houses unnoticed and routinely check their back doors. The cops caught the dope because of a string of robberies along his collection route. Duh.
And of course, this dope (me) had left the back door open while Wife1 and I were away. Duh.
Later, the cops wanted me to identify the loot, and I IDed the jewelry, but not the gun. Hey, in New York, if you had a gun you were either a cop or a crook, right? That tiny smartness canceled one duh in my life, right?
That was the last I saw of it.
Terry
Pic credit:
https://www.joesalter.com/ "Down East Antiques." (New Hampshire)