A scratching noise woke me at 2am.
I stared at the paler patch of ceiling over the curtains and thought of the drawers under my bed, which slid in and out too easily and were deep enough to hide a man-eating monster.
The scratching came again. It was definitely under my bed.
I wasn’t going to get any sleep with a monster right there, so I reached out from the safety of the covers and opened the drawer.
Little Squeak, the most gormless of my three cats, jumped out. I know because he hopped onto the pillow beside my head and began to growl.
I gave him a pat. He only growled louder.
He’s a sweet cat, but by this stage I thought he might be about to eat my face.
I turned the light on.
Little Squeak’s fur punked up and he hissed down the bed at Runs from Jeans, his brother. Runs from Jeans, who was sitting on the foot of the bed, stared in confusion at Little Squeak, then looked over his shoulder like, are you hissing at me or the bogeyman behind me?
I couldn’t tell either.
I tried to reassure Little Squeak that the bogeyman wasn’t going to hurt him, but he didn’t believe me.
Then the smoke detector outside the bedroom shrieked six times. It’s been there for years and I swear it’s never done that.
I gathered my courage and sent hubby to check the house, but nothing was amiss.
I guess the bogeyman was scared off by Little Squeak’s hissing, and wanted me to know it had been there.
Later it occurred to me perhaps Runs from Jeans had locked Little Squeak under the bed and Little Squeak was mad…
But that doesn’t explain the smoke detector.
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