The three of us left the house to shop. Locked the door, shut it, hopped in the car and drove off. A few hours later I pull into my driveway.
“Why is my front door open?” We stare. No cars in the driveway. Jack is gone for the weekend. The girls are out with Lola. Why is the front door open? The door stands ajar.
We remember locking it. And as I try to come up with reasonable scenarios in my mind…
a cat comes walking out of my house.
A CAT. Many of you know my utter disdain for cats.
The three of us collectively gasped, and, as Angie pointed out…
So, at this point, my even-keeled self is properly freaking out. We locked the door, and the door is open. I don’t own a cat, but a cat I don’t recognize just slinked out of my house. What… the… junk.
“Do I call the police?”
Thankfully, just as I turned my head, I saw my neighbors across the street pull up. Fantastic family. I ran over to them, and apparently I looked panicked, because they asked what’s wrong. I explain, and the man of the house marches right over, swings the door open and heads inside. Angie and I sheepishly follow while Amanda starts Tweeting out her will and last testament to her devoted Twitter fans.
No one’s inside. Neighbor checks the shower in the bathroom, which I am so grateful for, because not everyone is thorough enough to check the shower for killers. He says it’s all clear, and I try to piece together what happened.
There’s a package I’ve been waiting for my front porch. So.. maybe.. we locked the front door, shut it, but it didn’t latch properly. The mailman knocks on the door, drops the package on my front porch, and leaves. The door opens and some stray must have made his (or her) way in.
I panic again when I think that this cat may have gone to the bathroom somewhere in my home, and I am grateful that all of the bedroom doors were shut, which eliminated the “a cat hung out on our beds” fear.
Angie has a startling thought. “THANK GOD that cat came out. Can you imagine if you walked in your house and suddenly you notice a cat walking around?”
My heart stops just thinking about it. Seriously, if that happened, I probably would have gone into labor on the spot.
Poor Amanda and Angie. I was SO rattled by unwelcome wildlife (OR MAYBE SCARY HUMANS HIDING IN MY BASEMENT) being in my house I could not relax. I emotionally ate carrots and hummus and paced back and forth and generally looked like I needed to be medicated. I was – how do you say? – on edge.
Amanda graciously followed me into my embarrassingly Hoarders-esque basement to make sure there weren’t any psychopaths hanging out down there. I had a hacksaw in my hand and Amanda was armed with a hammer and an inverted lollipop. No psychopaths. Phew.
Later that night, some friends met us for dinner, and my friend Lindsey leans over and goes, “What if that cat had kittens in your basement?”
Lindsey bursts into hysterical laughter at my angry face and, no, I did not sleep well that night.
Thanks, Lindsey. Thanks, Cat.