But the sound of “the cat” is definitely coming from the pantry. It’s not getting louder, exactly, so much as I’m getting closer to it. And as I’m getting closer I’m beginning to realize the sound is not coming from inside the pantry so much as it’s coming from outside the house, seemingly trying to get inside the pantry. So you see, “the cat” must be outside.

That is perfectly logical.

It is at this moment, my dear friends, when I have to make another decision. Here are the choices:

Number one: Go outside and see what, exactly, the sound is.

Number two: Go back in the living room and continue to watch Ancient Aliens. Turn the sound up and pretend I do not hear anything.

Hmm. This is a difficult one. While I don’t really want to go outside into the dark night with a heretofore unidentified scratching sound . . . I also don’t think I’ll be able to actually relax.

Because the funny thing about the scratching sound is that it does seem to be getting louder. More insistent. And, there’s another thing. I notice that the closer I get to the scratching sound . . . the louder and more insistent it gets. Like “the cat,” which is obviously not anything more terrifying than a fluffy little feline, seems to know I am on the other side of the wall, getting closer. And . . . the closer I get, the more “the cat” seems to want to come in.

I decide to conduct an experiment. I close the pantry door, walk a few steps into the kitchen, and listen for the scratching. Dimmer. Softer. Slower. Now . . . I walk a few steps closer to the pantry, open the door, and move in toward the scratching sound. . . . Louder. Faster. More frantic.

So.

Somehow this thing, aka “the cat,” on the other side of the wall is aware of me. Aware of my presence. And animated by my presence.

It is here that I make an executive decision:

Go to bed.

If I go upstairs to bed, then I won’t hear the scratching sound and if I don’t hear the scratching sound, then it, quite simply, doesn’t exist. I can always watch Ancient Aliens on my laptop with my headphones on and not a care in the world. Also, if the scratching sound gets worse when I get closer, then it falls to reason that the farther away I get from the sound, the more likely it is to stop.

I am in the middle of telling myself this when the scratching sound abruptly stops. As if whatever the scratching sound was, it read my thoughts and decided to agree with me. Now the house is completely silent.

Okaaaay.

I find myself backing up out of the kitchen, out through the hallway, up the stairs, up the second-floor stairs, and to my humble little bedroom attic abode. I find myself desperately grateful for technology and the lull of my sweet laptop. Before I allow myself to feel anything approximating fear, I snap my headphones into place and get back to the lore of the ancient Sumerians.