Sometimes, despite your best intentions, things don’t go as planned. Even when you try to do everything right, there are days when the odds are just stacked against you. I can personally recall an event in my life that went wrong before I even knew that I had screwed up.
I was still working for the Hillsborough Police Department when this happened, and although it wasn’t anything terrible that occurred, it is an accident that I still think about on occasion. I was assigned to patrol and working the south end of the town when I received a radio announcement that a burglary alarm had been activated at one of our private residences. I acknowledged that I had received the dispatch call and was heading for the location in question.
Because we typically received thousands of residential alarm calls every year, and because on average less than one percent of those calls were the result of an actual burglary, I advised dispatch that I did not need a cover officer and I would advise if I needed assistance when I arrived at the house.
Although any police officers reading this will immediately point out that responding to an alarm call without a cover officer is a mistake, I just want to make it clear that this is not the mistake I am referring to in this blog. That’s coming up in a minute.
I arrived at the house and parked my patrol vehicle a few doors away so as not to advertise to any potential burglars that I was coming. I then began a systematic check of all doors and windows around the home to determine if anyone had attempted (or succeeded) in gaining entrance to the house. I could hear the interior alarm ringing as I wandered around the house.
While checking the side yard, I found a door that led into a laundry room. The door was unlocked and opened easily when I turned the doorknob. I announced on my radio that I had found an open door and requested a cover officer at this time. Better late than never, I suppose.
Because the alarm was still blaring, and burglars generally did not stick around when loud noises were announcing their presence, I assumed the house was most likely empty and decided to go inside and check for damages or theft.
As I opened the door, I saw a grey and white striped cat poke its head out through the gap. It meowed at me, clearly very upset at the loud noises in its house. It had probably been rudely awakened from a pleasant nap on some windowsill. The cat looked up at me as if to say, “make it stop,” then darted outside between my legs.
I let him go, figuring he was better off in the yard rather than inside with all that noise. I went into the laundry room and closed the door behind me. From the laundry room, I found another open door leading into the house. I began a systematic search of the residence. My partner arrived a few minutes later and assisted in the search. We found nothing out of the ordinary and decided the alarm had been an accident. Possibly even caused by the very cat I had let outside.
I walked back to the laundry room, planning to leave by the same door and attempt to lock it behind me. As I looked at the door, I noticed for the first time, a sign written with a black sharpie on a piece of paper. It said:
PLEASE DO NOT LET THE CAT OUTSIDE
Okay. Too late for that. In my defense, who the hell puts a sign on the inside of the door where anybody reading it has already let said cat out into the yard? With a sigh, I removed a business card from my pocket and wrote a note to the homeowner apologizing for letting Fluffy out of the house, along with the number to the police department in case they wanted to make a complaint.
Looking out into the yard, I noticed a grey and white cat perched on the fence separating the property from the neighbor’s yard. I immediately ran over, grabbed it, and carried it back into the house. I figured, I couldn’t go back in time and prevent the cat from getting out, but perhaps I could put things right by returning it to the house. The animal scratched, bit, and hissed the whole way back into the residence.
I admit to feeling a bit of concern when I noticed the cat in my arms did not have a collar or name tag on it. I would have sworn the cat that bolted out of the house had been wearing a red collar. I wasn’t certain. I could have been mistaken. It’s also possible that the cat had managed to take the collar off when it got outside.
Maybe.
Regardless, I removed the note I had written from the house and tore it up. I didn’t want to leave any evidence behind in case I had accidentally performed a cat swap. I figured I could always come back when the homeowners came home and discovered that someone had broken in, stolen their cat, and replaced it with a stray.
I would take the report, nod solemnly, and tell them that we would search diligently for the perpetrator that had switched cats. Then I would never speak of this incident again.
I never got a call back. I like to think that’s because I actually managed to find the correct cat. I suppose it is also possible the owners didn’t notice, or didn’t care enough to say anything.
Either way, if you ever come across someone who tells you a story about the day they left one cat in the house, then came home later to find a different cat living with them, I would appreciate it if you didn’t mention my name.
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