So one day last week, I took my oldest girl to school like I always do, just like any other normal weekday.
Little did I know what I would encounter when I arrived back home.
And when I pulled up in my driveway I. Just. Knew.
Something was off.
Something, something wasn’t right.
I had a strange sense of foreboding that told me not to get out of the car.
Well, maybe not foreboding, exactly; I was in the middle of a text conversation, and it was cold outside, so I sat there in my cozy heated seat while I finished up my text.
No, it was definitely foreboding. I think my instincts told me something was up. Maybe the Holy Spirit protecting me from the imminent danger I had inadvertently driven into. I can’t say for sure.
And then I heard it…. something bumping and banging around.
Sounded like doors opening? Closing? Thumping? Something….
My mad detective skills kicked in and I turned down the radio so I could hear.
There it was again. Bump. Thump. Bang.
I stealthily glanced around, surveying the yard, the driveway, the backdoor… my senses heightened, my years of detective training shifting into overdrive; was someone breaking into our house?!
No. The back door was closed.
And still I heard it.
It must be the shop. Someone was ransacking our shop. It had to be.
Thump. Bump. Bang.
Someone was in there rummaging around, overturning boxes and moving things around, searching for valuables.
I could see through the shop windows and saw nothing. NO movement of any kind. Oh, they were good…
But still, the thumping.
Something evil was going down, and I had driven up at exactly the wrong moment, placing Susie and me into a precarious situation.
And then it happened.
Something landed, full force, on the roof of my van.
The van shook.
My adrenaline surged.
In an instant my mind flashed back to that time in college when a man hid under a girl’s car in the parking lot, lurking there in the dark until just the right moment when he could grab her ankles and attack her.
And by gosh, that was what was happening here, now, in my driveway.
Probably a serial killer.
On the roof of the van.
HELP ME JESUS, I prayed silently.
When you have years of detective training your instincts just have to take over, because you only have mere milliseconds to decide what to do in a life or death situation: get out and try to make a run for it (but then Baby Susie was in the backseat, buckled into a car seat, and I knew I couldn’t get her out fast enough, before we were attacked by the serial killer…), or… or… what to do?!
See, all these things flash through your mind in, literally, the blink of an eye, when you’re a trained detective.
I shifted the van into reverse and FLOORED it.
The man tumbled down off the roof of the van and rolled down the windshield.
Except then I saw that it wasn’t a man.
It was just a cat.
He was fine, ok?
He would have been better off had he not been up in the rafters of our carport banging around like that, scaring the daylights out of innocent people. But I like to think he learned a valuable lesson that day. Not to do it again. Gosh.
I immediately texted hubby to tell him about the crisis I had averted.
I told him about the thumping in the rafters, and the BOOM! on the roof and the van shaking and my heart racing…
Which cat was it? he texted back.
He wasn’t even scared for me, not even a little. He never worried about me once.
But we’ll see who he comes running to when there’s a real serial killer on our roof and our lives are hanging in the balance.
Yep. The one with the years of detective training and the cunning instincts and the reflexes of a, uh, cat.
Because I’ll be ready.
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