Day 19. The Rapist.

1994. I was living on the first floor of a row house on a pretty, dark street. The house was set up a hill, off the road, and it wasn't only affordable - it was gorgeous. For the kind of rent I was paying I should have been living in a basement dungeon, but there, I had the entire basement and first floor all to myself. I'll admit, it was sorta' creepy. The basement was filled with the owner's belongings - nothing was organized, but everything interested me. I'd spend all kinds of time sifting through her stuff, and on occasion I took ownership of a few things. Not very nice, but wait 'til you hear why I deserved to.

At the time I had a cat I'd adopted from a super rich foster lady. My cat Oscar had just died a short while back and I decided to get off the purebred train and head for the unwanted misfits. Sounds corny, but when I saw the kitty for the first time I knew immediately she was mine. I named her Sophie and she became my little friend for a few years.

One night, I was sleeping in my bedroom at the back of the house, over the basement. Right outside my window there was a fiberglass covering that tilted down towards the backyard, which was one giant jungle because no one ever went back there to clean it up. I quickly found out why.

3 am. I'm sleeping and Sophie's stretched out on the windowsill because the window's open. Suddenly, shrieking like nothing I've ever heard before tears through the room. I shoot up, jump out of bed to walk over to her, and she leaps right at my face like a crazed, rabid lunatic. Now, she had never done anything like this before, and I'd never heard a noise like that come out of a cat, so I was shocked. I thought maybe she had seen another cat outside the window or something so I slammed it shut and went back to bed.

A couple weeks later. 3 am. I'm sleeping and Sophie's stretched out on the windowsill because the window's open. Suddenly, shrieking like nothing I've ever heard before tears through the room. I shoot up, jump out of bed and walk over to her. But this time I look out the window.

A pair of eyeballs, attached to one scary-assed face is staring back at me.

At this point, most normal people would either a) pee; b) scream; or c) faint. I just stood there for a few seconds, then calmly picked up the phone and called the police, who arrived within a few minutes. After a full search of the premises - they even went through the backyard jungle with guns and stuff - they came up with nothing, but left me with a few genius words of advice.

"Ma'am, you really should consider getting a dog."

Um. My cat just saved me from the miscreant trying to crawl through my window and ruin a perfectly good night's sleep. Why in the hell would I need to get a dog?

Needless to say, I was up until the sun was blazing in the sky and came to the conclusion that only a madman rapist, murderer or thief would have the balls to try and climb in my window. This called for drastic action, because no way in hell was I going to sleep in that room for one more night without protection.

I enlisted a friend of mine to help with the job. Armed with epoxy and nails we hauled our asses up to the top of that fiberglass and started attaching. We must have glued hundreds of spikes to that thing. No way anyone - or anything - was gonna' get a chance at me and my guard cat again.

Soon after, I installed bars on the windows and doors, which my landlady said she'd reimburse me for. Get everything in writing, people. I never saw a dime. Which brings me full circle to the stolen belongings. I got out of there with a desk, a night table, and a bunch of odd trinkets. I don't feel guilty, either. The way I see it is I paid a few thousand dollars for the bars, so that more than covers the items I took.

Sophie's no longer alive. She got liver failure and I put her out of her misery. I'm no crazy cat lady, but putting that cat down was incredibly hard.

I'll never know what that perv in the window was after, but whatever it was, Sophie saved me from having to find out. Good kitty.