My life is weird. I think we’ve been over that. So, really, it shouldn’t be that much of a surprise that there was an attempted break in at my house by a cat.
It happened a few weeks ago. I woke up early on a non-run day to take the dogs for a walk. I set the house alarm before I left, like I always do and, in the fuss of getting two husky mutts out of the house and off the porch where the stray cat hoard was, I apparently forgot to actually lock the door. My doorknob hadn’t been locking right since I’d changed the locks after losing my house key while out on a run and, locked or unlocked, a little push on the door was all it took to open it. Under normal circumstances I would have set the deadbolt, but given the dog-juggling, cat-avoiding that was going on, I must have forgotten.
The dogs and I set out, walking all over the neighborhood, Luke walking under each and every bush we encountered, Sadie watching for squirrels. And then, when we were a few blocks from home, I pulled out my iPhone to check the time. I had one missed call from an unknown number and several missed calls from a friend, along with a text message imploring me to call immediately, which I did. My friend, who is on the list of people our alarm company calls should the alarm go off, asks where I was and if I was ok, then told me the alarm was going off and that our other friend, who lives a few blocks away, was on the way to my.
So, first, I got a little freaked out. I’d been gone like 25 minutes, maybe, so the thought that someone could have broken into my house in such a short amount of time when I was doing something that didn’t fit with my normal schedule really freaked me out. Also, it was 7am on a weekday and I don’t think criminals wake up that early.
But then I thought about the door, about how it hadn’t been shutting properly, how a little push was all it took to open it and I figured that maybe, possibly, a bit of wind or a gentle push from a stray cat could have opened the door, thus setting off the alarm. I thought I’d locked the deadbolt, but, given the madness of getting out the door, I reasoned, it was entirely possible that I’d turned the key the wrong way or not at all.
I got off the phone with my friend and tried to rush the dogs home, although given a need for quickness, those fluffy jerks decided it was time for pooping and lollygagging, with some squirrel chasing thrown in for good measure.
When I was almost to my block, a friend who lives close by, who had been called by the friend I’d already talked to, called me, to tell me he was at my house and so were some police officers. I told him I was close and he met me in the middle of my block, took the dogs so I could rush to the house, where I found three police officers standing on my front porch.
I was alarmed, mostly by the presence of three police officers on my porch, because I was, at this point, pretty damn sure nothing was wrong, and I felt mostly embarrassed that my inability to lock my front door had called these three public servants to my front porch so early in the morning. But, they were nice, told me something appeared to be wrong with my door knob, which I assured them was not a new issue, but was, in fact, a known issue. They seemed a little disappointed, I think, but told me they had searched the whole house, found nothing and no one, but that when they’d arrived the door had been slightly open and when they entered the house a cat ran out.
I was immediately concerned, fearing that one of my cats had ran out of the house, was going to get lost or hurt or eaten by bears, but after a quick search I located both my kitties, safely hiding in the house. So the culprit?
Ever since he let me pet him, he’s been hanging out right outside the front door, napping on my door mat, rubbing himself against my legs the minute I step outside and so I’m nearly positive he watched the dogs leave, then claimed his spot back on my doorstep, knocking the door open and venturing inside. He appeared in the middle of my conversation with the cops, taking a seat on the walkway next to my porch, peering up at the four of us, seemingly oblivious to the mess he’d caused. He’s a terrible criminal, that cat, knowing nothing about fleeing the scene.
The good news is that this is a ridiculous story, but also that a stray cat breaking into my house was the motivation I needed to fix my front door and I can say, without a doubt, that it’s cat proof. It’s so secure that I even locked myself out last week.