I'm a 32-year old man who has holed himself up in his office like Jodie Foster in "Panic Room."
How did I get here, you ask?
I wish I knew.
So JM has been out of town for a business trip since Monday. Thus Joey and I have been at home alone doing the male bonding thing, and we've gotten into a groove.
During the day, Joey snoozes blissfully in a corner of my office as I feverishly work. At night I carry my MBA textbooks downstairs and into the living room, flip the television set to a random college basketball game, and commence reading as Joey positions his furry back against my left thigh and slumbers once more. At night when I retire to bed, Joey curls up next to me for even more naps. I call them "naps" when I'm asleep because I can hear him awakening and leaving the room several times throughout the hours of darkness. Whenever he decides to join me once more, he always pounces on the bed and lands on my legs or chest, thereby startling me into thinking an intruder has entered my abode and attacked me.
Not exactly the best way to wake up.
Joey's returns always leave my heart beating like I just gulped down a Monster energy drink. Meanwhile, Joey coils his body into a big brown ball and temporarily dozes off next to me as I stare at him in a state of groggy anger. (Note to self: If I ever start a band, I'm going to call it "Groggy Anger.")
Everything was going fine with our little routine until today.
I knew something was amiss when I woke up this morning, and Joey kept rapidly scurrying away from me as I walked by him while getting ready for a new work day. However, later in the morning he plopped down next to me as I sat in my office chair and conducted a business call. This was a sure fire sign that he wanted to hop aboard my lap and hang out. Though I was on the telephone, and I have been training him to understand that I cannot give him the attention he so desperately craves while conducting live business, I decided to make an exception in hopes to calm him from his previously agitated state.
Joey proceeded to quietly have a siesta while I spoke on the phone for the next 45 minutes. When the call finished, I extricated Joey from my lap and went downstairs to make some breakfast. Joey gleefully followed me into the kitchen.
That's when all hell started to break loose.
As I prepared a protein shake, I heard a distinct scratching sound emanating from the game room. I peered over the kitchen bar and saw Joey gliding his claws up and down a closed closet door next to my pool table. I loudly shooed him away and returned to preparing my meal. Seconds later, Joey began pawing away at the downstairs bathroom door, which too was closed shut. I tranquilly walked over to Joey and proclaimed, "What are you doing, buddy?"
Apparently Joey took this as a sign that I was ready to wage war and dashed away from me and up the stair case. I was left standing alone, jaw agape, wondering if I had pulled a Rip Van Winkle and suddenly awoke in December 21, 2012.
Minutes later I carried my breakfast upstairs. Joey rushed from the head of the stairs, where he nonchalantly sat, to the closed master bedroom door down the hallway. As I placed my food on my office desk, I heard him once again scraping his claws along a door down the hall. Like nails on a chalkboard, the sound sent shivers down my spine.
At this point I decided that enough was enough. I casually ventured into the hallway in order to monitor his behavior for a bit. When I turned a corner, I saw Joey sitting upright by the same closed master bedroom door. I slowly approached him and reached out to pet his back in an attempt to comfort him. As my hand steadily approached his wooly torso, he bolted through my legs like a flash of lighting and scuttled down the stairs in order to get away.
This was when I stepped into the master bathroom to inspect myself in the mirror. Had I turned into a scary Shrek-ian ogre since yesterday?
Besides a bad case of bed head, I appeared to look normal.
So I turned around and ambled back down the hallway. That was when I saw Joey standing on his back legs and scratching the wall along the bottom of the stair case. At that moment, Joey and I made eye contact. His green beady eyes seemed to stare past my retinas and deep within my soul. It was as if he could sense the mix of confusion and fright that existed within my being. And just like that, he rushed up the stairs and towards me like I was a matador holding up a red cape.
Freaked out by the sight of a chubby critter chasing me down, I let out a girlish shriek, turned around and sprinted into my office while slamming the door shut behind me.
Within a jiffy I heard him scratching on my office door.
"He wants to kill me and feast on my flesh," I thought as I huddled my body in a corner of the room and sought out weapons to stave off an eminent attack.
Despite his audible pleadings, I refused to open the door. That was when I decided to call JM and leave her a four-word voice mail.
"Joey has gone crazy."
It has now been 20 minutes since I was turned into a captive in my own home, and there has been nothing but eerie silence from the other side of the door.
Something is afoot.
If you don't see another blog post by this weekend, please call the authorities.
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