I am usually a sound sleeper and only wake up when a bomb goes off. This is not conducive to being a warrior or an alert cop. Both are interchangeable, synonymous. :)
So...at about 2ish in the morning, I bolted out of bed due to a ruckus downstairs. Now, mind you...it has been 90 degrees with equal humidity. My air conditioner was on all night which is unusual for me. I'm usually a cheapskate and shut it off after my midnight run.
It's loud and obnoxious. I like quiet...no noise. Very rarely can I even have the television on. Perhaps this is my way of wanting to hear if anything goes down in the Harry Potter house and God forbid...miss it because of some white noise.
You can imagine the sight when I jumped out of bed...long hair (Medusa fashion, I'm sure)...scantily clothed...reached for my Glock and flashlight...and tried to sneak down the squeaky 115-ish year old mahogany staircase. Lora Croft and her grace was a far cry Fargo's sneak attack.
As I cornered the second landing, I could tell it was coming from the back of the house. Moose had already run up and down the staircase in SWAT mode, making it appear as if the ARMY was headed to take care of the intruder. When he finally settled down, he ran to the far back door to the mud room and barked, growled, and played guard dog as taught by his inner sense. Big O, on the other hand, nodded my arrival downstairs and went back to sleeping on his posh dog bed. Fat lot of good he was.
I looked down into the mudroom from the kitchen window and old bubbled glass was not helpful, thus all I saw was a fun house. I just basically had to open the back door and fling it wide, trying the shock and awe method. And...I did so. And....nothin'. However, Moose was going crazy...still.
Cop 101. ALWAYS LOOK UP!
On top of my industrial second refrigerator, was SASQUATCH...or at least the Mini-Me version which resembled a stray alley cat. Growling, hissing, hair out in fur ball- pissed off -manner. That's a sign I should have heeded.
Did I want to set down my Glock to catch a wild cat? Hell to the no. Cops don't rescue cats. That is a job for hose draggers.
Obviously, there were none around, so Fargo had to do their job as well as protect the dwellers of the Harry Potter house...which meant...me. Cops are also multi-taskers, so this was simple. Right?
Because Moose was so helpful in stirring up the cat even more so, I had to get leather gloves and capture SASQUATCH and throw him out. And that was not an easy task. Ripped the heck out of one of my good satin camisoles. Numerous scratches were avoided after that by holding the varmit way out away from my face, which reminded me of holding death at arms length...and saying out loud..."HOLY SHIT."
Once again, I failed this task because I am NOT trained as a firefighter.
In fact, I failed the fire test in 1995 and still have PTSD, picturing myself reaching out for that last grasp of the reeled hose and missing...watching it fall all the way back down and even though I got it all the way back up there and grabbed it the second time, I ran out of time to finish the entire test and I'm not bitter nor mad about it and suffer no problems, but hey-that's life- and so glad I became a cop with less pension and benefits because I like to drive fast, fight, guns are AWESOME and would have SUCKED at washing fire trucks and such. And obviously rescuing kittens out of high places.
It was like a monkey fucking a football. Knowing animals in the wild survive very dangerous times, I threw the cat into the grass several feet and slammed Moose's head into the door as he tried to go after it. Accidentally. By now, I didn't even feel bad.
It was then I decided no matter how hot it gets in the mud room...never, never...leave the windows open. Why? Because people and cats can get in there and having no screens [because apparently screens don't survive 100 years over the course of several homeowners] makes me an easy target.
Just so you know...SASQUATCH lives.