Creature of the night

I have long been a bit of a night owl.  In part because I am a genius, no doubt, but likely also because I got my own computer when I was in the seventh grade, and hours-long AOL chats with my unrequited love and marathon sessions of designing new levels for "X-Wing vs. TIE Fighter" both forced me to stay awake late.  (I also failed three classes in the eighth grade and had my calculus teacher tell me I would not graduate high school.)

It gets worse, of course, during bouts of depression, when I simply never bother to go to bed because there's nothing to look forward to when I wake up.

Though I now have my own apartment, I've lived most of my life with other people, so I am accustomed to sneaking about in the dark, trying to minimize the sounds I make.  I knew just how to distribute my weight in our creaky house to make the stairs and hallway a little less creaky (that was the best I could do).  Everywhere I lived, I have a distinct memory of what it's like in the dark, as I feel my way around.  Home. College.  Mexico.  I usually manage to pull off this lurking with minimal disturbance to others.

Of course, there are times when it all fails spectacularly.  Once, I was trying to sneak up from the basement (the location of my computer at the time) late at night when our dog, who had never displayed any signs of being useful, decided that was the night he would try out the "guard dog" thing.  Nothing ruins a subtle entry like a barking dog.  There was the time I had so much trouble with my key that my host dad had to come downstairs and let me in the house.

And there was tonight, when the whole damn house woke up thanks to the stupid cat.

As the last one to bed, it is often my duty to close the cat in the kitchen/dining room area of the house at night.  This usually just entails closing two doors, since the cat tends to stay in that territory anyway.  Tonight, though, I couldn't find her anywhere.  Fifteen minutes I circled around and around the first floor of the house, searching.

Wondering if she slipped outside while the dogs were out, I opened the front door as quietly as possible and stepped out.  Honestly, it was almost silent.  Except when the door kept opening all on its own, and bumped against the painting on the wall.  Repeatedly.  It sounded like someone was banging to be let in.

I dashed back inside and carefully closed the door.  Now I heard some shifting of weight upstairs, but I decided it was unrelated to me.  I continued my search.

Meow, the cat said, upstairs.  The cat usually doesn't go upstairs, but tonight she decided to mess with me.  I made for the stairs, and could now hear Doug (another tenant) moving about on the second floor.  Doug had come to investigate the door banging, lest I be one of Berkeley's axe murderers.

"Is the cat up there?" I stage whispered.

After he challenged me for my identity (what, like I'm a burglar who inquires about the cat?), he went to fetch the cat.

There are also two dogs in this house, and one of them hates Doug.  When he called out for the cat, the dog lost it, and all hell broke loose.  Soon the homeowner was awake, lights were on, and retrieving the cat was no longer a covert operation.

Fail.

If I had my way, that animal would be denied breakfast.