REAR BEDROOM GLASSBREAK ALARM
This is the message that appeared on my iPhone while at the office last Friday. Fear for my cats’ safety and violation of my personal space caused my hands to shake as I studied this message, hoping the app would follow up with a WHOOPS FALSE ALARM MY BAD IT’S ALL GOOD message.
Being as famous as I think I am, Steven and I need a good home security system. I hear and read about break-ins often, yet as aware of them as I am and even as I stared at the alarm message, I had trouble believing this was happening to me.
I am jolted out of my shock by my ringing phone. It is the security company. No, I’m not home. Yes, please call the police. I am on my way.
I try my best to maintain the speed limit on the 11-mile trip through East Memphis. That morning, before leaving for work, I decided to lock Zoe in the guest bedroom (the source of the alarm) because she gets along with the other cats as much as ISIS gets along with gays. As a matter of fact, she feels a hatred for Blind Murphy that is so deep, only demons and Joshua Feuerstein can relate. Whenever Blind Murphy unknowingly wanders nearby, Zoe screams alarmingly loud, like somebody stepping on her tail, and vigorously swats at the unsuspecting handicat. I was hoping this respite would settle Blind Murphy’s nerves; however, at that time, I couldn’t help but worry that some animal-hating reprobate that broke into our home was torturing Zoe.
Upon arriving home, Steven and I exchange texts that unfolds this story. My messages are in blue.
As Steven sent the last four messages, I cautiously wandered the house, stepping silently along the hardwood floors, listening for any foreign sounds. I tip-toed into the hallway and looked to my left at the closed guest bedroom door when I heard a sound that dropped my guard and broke my heart. It is a pitifully low, rumbling meow from Blind Murphy that said, “For the love of God, somebody please let me out. I’ve been locked inside of a room with a mentally deranged animal.” His plea sounded worn and defeated.
How could I forget that Blind Murphy’s morning routine was to climb out of our bed for breakfast and then climb onto the pillows of the guest bed for a siesta? How could I have been in such a hurry that I didn’t see his gray body of fur as I quickly closed the door to prevent Zoe’s escape?
I opened the bedroom door and scooped Blind Murphy into my arms. Zoe had her back turned so, being deaf, was not aware of my presence. I carried Blind Murphy to safety and closed the bedroom door. This is when I texted Steven the final message above.
Halloween came a day early for Blind Murphy. Instead of a treat, though, he received a hearty portion of whoop-ass. At least I learned a few lessons from this vicariously traumatic experience:
- Zoe is indeed capable of setting off the house alarm with her supernaturally loud voice.
- It takes a lot of treats, attention, and new toys before a blind cat will forgive you for locking them in a room with a psychopath.
- Deaf cats with mental issues are unapologetic.
- Good intentions are only worthy if they are executed with care (e.g. check for stray cats before closing a bedroom door on a temperamental cat).