Twelve Minutes

This evening, I came home to what was supposed to be an empty house.

But when I opened the door, I heard something. It sounded like someone rummaging about in one of the closets in the master bedroom. That’s at the other end from where I was standing.

I backed out and quietly shut the door.

Calling 9-1-1, described the situation including the fact that I was armed for self-defense. The dispatcher asked for a description of myself before the call ended.

I looked at my wrist watch: 9:38PM.

At 9:50PM, twelve minutes later, the first officer arrived. I identified myself. He had me put my handgun on the hood of a car in the driveway.

A minute or two later, a second officer arrived. They entered and searched the home.

Ten or so minutes later they reported the house was clear. I asked to retrieve and pocket my handgun and they agreed, then asked me to come in and check valuables and look for disorder.

All valuables were OK but a basket in the bedroom, now on the floor, seemed out of place.

After a thorough personal check, I decided nothing was amiss and thanked the officers for coming and apologized for the apparent “false alarm.”

Best I can figure is that the mouse that’s been plaguing us for several weeks was in that darkened bedroom and, after the dogs greeted my initial entry, the big one heard the mouse and went sniffing for him. In the bedroom, he must’ve temporarily cornered his quarry and pounced, knocking the basket onto the floor. I conclude it was the dog’s scuffle I heard.

I doubt I could’a hit that little mouse with my 38 snubbie.

But those twelve minutes…

When seconds count, the Police are only minutes–twelve in this instance–away.

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