By Jay Scott Kanes
PEEKING from behind a wispy curtain, Jake saw them. Two men in vaguely familiar blue uniforms lingered outside the bungalow’s front door. Instantly, their presence churned fear deep in his gut.
As Jake watched, the shorter policeman, a stubby guy with a fringe of hair pasted to a melon-shaped head, stepped forward and poked the doorbell. Chimes filled the house.
A taller visitor lingered two paces behind, his thumbs hooked on a utility belt. He stared at the walls and roof, as if expecting someone bent on escape to burst through them.
Ring the bell all you want, but I’m staying away from that door, Jake thought.
The chiming stopped, replaced by yells.
“Mr Pearson, are you home?”
“We need to ask a few questions.”
As the tall cop’s gaze scanned Jake’s window, the insider pulled back, panicky. Did that scarecrow spot him?
Suddenly, Jake remembered the back door and sensed the callers circling his house. Was the rear door locked? He didn’t recall.
Spurred to action, Jake sprinted to the kitchen in time to see the doorknob turn. A stab of chest discomfort created visions of a heart attack. He wished he’d eaten a lighter lunch. Too much grub roiled his innards.
The door stayed shut, its lock firmly engaged.
“Mr Pearson, talk to us,” someone shouted.
Jake retreated one step.
“Hello, hello,” boomed a second voice. “Is anyone inside?”
Go away, Jake thought. Leave me alone.
The doorknob jiggled, but the lock held. Outside, the voices turned quieter. “Do you think he’s there?”
“Yes, I saw the living-room curtains move.”
Drats! Jake licked his parched lips. Would they kick down the door?
Burdened by fear, he stumbled away, seeking a secure hiding place. Veering left took him into the master bedroom. Trotting a few paces, he hopped on the mattress and fumbled at bedclothes until his head and body slid into the reassuring darkness beneath.
Seconds passed, then minutes. Jake heard no intruders in the house. He guessed they’d gone away.
Soon he realized that he needed to empty his bladder. He hopped to the floor and padded to the bathroom. Passing the toilet, he settled into a litter box beneath the sink.
No longer troubled, Jake decided to resume patrolling the premises for mice. His whiskers twitched in anticipation.
With luck, the next person at the door would be Jack Pearson, Jake’s human companion, his trusted feeder, fur-brusher and belly-rub provider.
A conscientious cat’s security duties never ended.
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