It was one of those days, a lazy summer day with absolutely nothing to do. Of course the pool was open and it was fair weathered outside, but still nothing to do. My brother Ben was lazing around the house and I was half sleeping on the sofa, but our cat was as restless as a rabid squirrel on caffeine. What he wanted to do was go outside and look at the mourning doves. So promptly I got up and opened the sliding door. Usually, when we let our cat outside, somebody has to stay and watch him, but being the average teenage boy as I am, I decided to go inside and play some Black Ops.
After half an hour of mindlessly shooting zombies, Ben yelled to me from upstairs saying, “Hey do you know where the cat is?”
I walked outside saying “Yah he’s right here…” I look around and he is nowhere to be found. My brother and I burst outside, pretty much in our superhero boxers, and run the how many miles our community is looking for this cat. We stop awhile gasping for breath after yelling his name for about an hour. Our parents were away at a meeting and we knew that if we didn’t find him we would be grounded for years. My mother loved that cat more than she loved me as a baby, so rethinking that thought, we would probably be personal slaves to Mexican farmers for years.

We slugged into the house in despair, sweating from our fear (and the fact it was 2:00 p.m. on an Arizona summer day). We plopped down on the couch and right at that moment our pesky little cat came slithering from behind the sofa. We broke down into hysterics partially from the irony and partially from overwhelming relief. Our parents walked in about 10 minutes later and to this day, they are still none the wiser.