Scritch-scritch.

 

It's one of those sounds that's just enough of a sound to catch your attention without giving itself away. You scan the room with your ears. Your eyes, along for the ride, fall on the familiar trappings of your tiny bedroom office: old sewing machine cabinet turned bill-paying desk, easel with unfinished painting gathering dust, stationary bike come coat rack, three floor-to-ceiling bookcases crammed to overflowing with every book you've ever read since sixth grade, and a twin bed piled with clothes destined for donation last spring. The piles partially hide one lazy black cat; its ears twitching.

 

You heard it, too, huh? You ask.

 

Scritch-scritch.

 

The cat stiffens, hissing, hairs on end.

 

The sound is coming from behind the middle bookcase next to the window.

 

 

• Go to the window and look out.

• Kneel down by the bookcase and listen.

• Call for an exterminator.

 

 

 

The adventure begins ??.??.??

​

Soon, I hope. It's 7.15.16 now. Life is extraordinarily difficult at the moment. Thought I'd drop in and let you know. I will return. Soon.