Intruder alert!

I was heading into the garage, as I am sure you often do, to get some sour cream.
To that you are no doubt saying, “The garage? For sour cream? Well, that makes perfect sense.” And then you vow never to eat chip dip at my house.
Actually, I was getting sour cream out from my garage refrigerator, which is needed to house the overflow food that does not fit in my main refrigerator, whose sole job is to house 500 to 600 pounds of leftovers at a time, which cannot be moved until it is time to throw them out, only to remark to my wife, “Look at how much we throw out!?!?! This is nuts!!!” At that point, she reminds me that my contribution to leftover consumption was zero, and the kids roll their eyes and leave the room, lest the conversation degrade into one about how it’s not that hard to change a toilet paper roll. You know – the kind of things married couples argue about when they have run out of real things to argue about.
So anyway, I was in the garage when I heard my wife call my name. And she did not sound happy. In fact, she sounded terrified, as if a giant squid was reaching through the upstairs window and attacking her. (I have no experience with squid attacks, but I feel certain that should one attack my wife, she might sound that kind of panicky.)
I bolted upstairs and found my wife standing in the playroom, her hands pressing against a closet door. “IT’S TRYING TO GET OUT!!!” she said as I bounded in the room.
“The squid?” I asked.
She looked at me funny.
“What is trying to get out?”
“I don’t know. I was sitting at the computer, I heard the door open, and it banged at the door and tried to get out. It’s a squirrel. Or a mouse. Or a possum. I don’t know. It’s something coming at the door.”
Immediately, I sprung into supreme protector mode. I put my hand on the door. “Dinner is on the stove,” I said. “Go take care of that. I’ll take it from here.” I looked around for something heavy, knowing that the squirrel/possum/squid might be quite powerful.
Once the door was secure, I went into the garage and grabbed a pair of heavy work gloves and a flashlight. My plan was simple: I would swing the door open, shine the light inside the closet, stunning whatever was there. I would then grab it with my gloves and let it go back in the woods/sea.
When I got upstairs, I donned my gloves. I readied the flashlight. I cued up the Rolling Stones’ “Satisfaction” in my head to make me feel like an action hero.
One.
Two.
Three.
And with a deep breath, I flung the door open, crouched down with the flashlight and scanned for my nemesis. And I scanned. And I scanned. And I scanned. And I kicked a box to make it show itself. And I scanned. And I pushed another box. And I caught a suitcase that almost fell on me.
For a good minute I probed the closet, trying to find the offending creature. No sounds. No signs of life. Nothing.
I called down to my wife. “Are you sure you heard something?”
She was very sure. She stood at the bottom of the stairs assuring me how sure she was. While at the stairs, she noticed that I had left the door to the garage open. She was also sure that I could close a door. She gave the door a swift shove.
At that point, the closet door that was I standing next to also slammed shut. A metal container hanging on the doorknob rattled on the handle. In fact, it rattled in a way quite similar to, say, a possum scratching the door.
I came downstairs to test my theory. I began opening and closing the door quickly. Each time, I could hear the upstairs closet door open and close, the metal thingie rattling all the way. This told me one of two things: The possum/squid was an excellent choreographer, or the opening and closing was creating some kind of air current that was making it appear that something was trying to bust its way out of the closet.
When I explained my theory to my wife, she seemed a little embarrassed, even if not totally sold on my theory. I told her that it did, indeed, sound like something was trying to get out of the room, and that we at least had good experience, having done a dry run. At the very least, we are prepared. Bring on the squid.