Suddenly disturbed from sound sleep and a pleasant dream, Suzanne alerted me to a constant, ominous alarm linked to the Blood Moon she had been observing, earlier having left the front door open.
Leaping to my stouthearted, fearless and manly detective role, I strained my ankle. But searing pain cannot dissuade a Superhero in his relentless quest to quickly quash the threat and restore truth, justice and the American Way.
After all, my heroic wife temporarily usurped my unflinching bravery when she tenaciously apprehended my female pickpocket in Barcelona last year.
How could I do less at 2 a.m. today than to rescue my damsel in distress?
At first my superhero hearing didn't detect the alarm, my being accustomed to first listening for the click of a firearm, outside footsteps, stratospheric disorder or marauding rhinos.
Tentatively assured of global order, I inserted my threat- and sound-extending Kirkland Signature hearing aids, specially ordered for my exquisite, uniquely sensory gifts. These instruments transmit all cyber, telecommunications and YouTube sounds directly to my fearfully and wonderfully made receptors, which deceptively resemble ordinary ears.
Now the electronics, meticulously developed over decades, focused on the in-house alarm, which mimicked the shrill, stuttering ADT alarm, but disturbingly muffled.
Working my magic with the ADT brains of our central console, my racing mind immediately eliminated any connection between the disturbance and ADT.
Suzanne, clearly distraught, informed me (as if I couldn't figure this out for myself) that the sound was loudest by the front door. I opened the door, and the sound stopped, but only for a few short seconds, resuming with the dreadful, relentlessly menacing peril.
My complex mind suddenly was drawn to an obscure electronic device attached to the bottom of the door, installed six years ago (my mathematical gray matter quickly calculating) by my son, whom I immediately absolved of any needless reproach.
Accustomed as I am to getting down in the trenches I knelt down deeply to affix my hyperacuitive ear to the suspect device. No sound. If anyone could detect an emission, it was I.
An artificial plant graced the entry way. I gently lifted it inches from the ostentatious pot. The sound ceased. I released my grip. Resume alarm.
Do I perceive a pattern?
Immediately my analytical mind reviewed multiple internal screens of data, comparing the sound to myriad similarities in the natural universe over the last 71 years.
Faithful to my recall as always, my brain confirmed the identity.
It was a cricket.
Having served 26 years in the military and having covered 12 fatal aircraft accidents and countless threats to our global security, I maintained total command and control.
Instinctively, I ordered my adoring wife to evacuate the unreal and other-worldly plant, and its noisy occupant, banishing them to the dark and ominous garage.
The sound ceased forevermore, thanks to my incisive action and that my wife's predisposition (only in imminent danger) to instantly and willingly comply.
Trust and obey,
For there's no other way
To be happy in Jesus,
But to trust and obey.
It is, after all, my life theme.