Cat Burglar?

Last night I was sleeping peacefully when suddenly I was jolted awake by a sound.  Hubby was already sitting straight up in bed, listening intently.  It was the unmistakable sound of a door being tampered with somewhere in the house.

"Omgomgomgomgomgomgomgomgomgomg!" was my first thought.

Hubby grabbed his knife off the nightstand (he used to sleep with it under his pillow until I caught him doing it and put a stop to that.  Accidentally fatally stabbed in my sleep by my husband?  No thanks.), jumped out of bed and walked toward the locked bedroom door without even bothering to put anything on over his boxer-briefs.  "Be careful!" I hissed, heart pounding with adrenaline at the thought that someone might really be in our house.  Someone who was probably fully clothed and maybe had something worse than a knife in their hand and therefore would have the advantage in a fight.

Which brought me right back to "Omgomgomgomgomgomgomg....." I'm kind of a big baby when it comes to starring as the victim (or the victim's wife? or both? ugh) in my own real-live episode of CSI.

Hubs silently opened the door and slipped into the hallway.  I wish I could say he was quiet and stealthy, but that would pretty much be impossible since the hallway floor has the most gawdawful creak that cannot be stepped around or over.  Good if someone's trying to sneak up on you; bad if you're trying to do the sneaking.

I listened, heart still pounding, wild ideas such as, "Should I put clothes on just in case I have to go attempt to beat the shit out of someone?" still racing through my mind.  (I like to sleep in the buff and while that might be enough to distract a robber for a moment or two, it'd hardly give me the ultimate advantage in a fight.)

The rattling of the door ceased immediately as soon as the floor creaked.  I heard Hubby walk downstairs.  Nothing.  Silence.  Still, no gunshots rang out and no shouts, death gurgles or sounds of a struggle ensued, so I began to breathe a little easier.

After what seemed like an eternity (probably about two minutes), Sean came back upstairs into the bedroom.  "What was it?  What was that noise?" I inquired, still freaked out even though he was alive and unharmed and everything was obviously okay.

He sighed and then said, "Um, well... the cat somehow got shut up inside the coat closet."

And that's the fabulous story about our cat burglar last night.

Nice, huh?  Damn cat is way more trouble than she's worth sometimes, I swear.

In spite of the fact that no one actually tried to break into the house, Sean selected a nice 9-iron from his golf bag to keep the knife on the nightstand company at night.  At least until he buys an aluminum baseball bat.

I think we should just buy a damn gun.  Yeesh. ♦