THE ALARM

Story by Linda Carter ©

I’m making a sandwich in the kitchen in my underwear. I had just dragged myself out of bed on a Sunday morning, after a late night “pitty party” that involved a little too much alcohol.

My husband Ken had been in Sioux Falls, South Dakota for over

two months, at the bedside of his terminally ill mother. I was grateful he could be where he should be, but every once in awhile, I was lonely.

And I wasn’t the only one. Our two cats, brothers named Scout and Skylar, were used to Dad being home all day, running his home based business and stopping by occasionally to play.

The two kitties had started eyeing me suspiciously, as if I had created their father’s absence.

Standing at the kitchen counter, I suddenly hear an ominous warning from our alarm system, the speaker blaring right above my head.

“Sensor 81, Help, Help! Sensor 81 Help!” Over and over again.

I was sure I had turned off the alarm when I got up and opened a bedroom window for the boys to get some air. All I could picture was an injured cat trapped by a window or an intruder trying to break into the house.

I bolt for the bedroom and this is the picture I see before me.

Two angelic, furry faces stare innocently up at me, as if to say, WHAT?

I ran for that keypad, frantically trying to remember our code and a little afraid the neighbors would see me a little naked.

Thankfully, silence fills the air, but I knew my journey through Alarm Country was far from over.

As I wait for the call from security central, I slowly put the whole picture together. I surmised that the alarm had been “triggered” by one of eight little paws and I am not completely convinced the little shits didn’t know what they were doing.

The person from the alarm company informs me that Sensor 81 is a “holdup” key, designed to be activated during many scenarios, including a home invasion.

So, let me be clear about this. If someone bursts in and holds

my family at gunpoint, I am to push this button, unleashing a cacophony of sound that could very easily prompt the invaders to shoot ME.

I inform the security system employee that I had actually been held up at “pawpoint” and that I would place the keypad safely in a drawer from now on. 

As I hang up the phone, I reflect on what has happened here.

Two very sad little cats, reaching out with the only desperate plea they can think of… “Help, help, sensor 81… help, help!”

I picture this scenario as police officers arrive and interrogate the two little culprits. Of course one of the cops happens to speak fluent feline and the boys outline their list of complaints.

“She hasn’t played with us in three days!”

“She beats us, yeah she beats us!”

“Our father is missing, we think she did away with him.”

“Check the basement man, it smells down there.”

“Don’t leave us, she’s boring!”

As the police car pulls away, I look down at these two little helpless creatures and sigh, “He’s coming back, I promise.”

THE END