The Intruders

The alarm clock is shrill, persistent, and uncompromising - waging war against the vivid dream that’s fighting to keep its hold on my consciousness. The dream slowly accepts its defeat, but steals away with both my mental clarity and my will to get out of bed. Until I see the time.

“Shit!” I exclaim as I launch from beneath the sheets, sending Midnight - my black cat who had been snoozing at the base of the bed - running for cover with an indignant yowl.

I tear around the small bedroom, tugging on my black dress pants and stuffing my floral blouse into the waist. I yank my black blazer from its hanger in the closet and stalk to the bathroom to hastily fix my hair and makeup - my feet already protesting from the heels I never wear. Then it’s off to the refrigerator. Protein shake in one hand, keys in the other, I make a run for the door; calling out a clipped goodbye to Midnight as I take my leave. She blinks back at me from her new spot on the dining room chair, unimpressed.

By some miracle, traffic on the normally congested Howard Frankland bridge leading into Tampa from St. Petersburg is flowing smoothly, and I make it to the Tampa Convention Center with just enough time to get parked and checked in. I’m handed a name tag and a plain, white folder, and escorted by an overly-bubbly attendant to the large conference hall where every manager in the US for Astar Business Solutions has gathered - about 250 of us in total.

The upper echelon of corporate blowhards decided that this conference would be a great way to reinvigorate the company from the top. Our day is to be jam-packed with leadership seminars, motivational success stories, and team-building activities. It all sounds absolutely dreadful.

My suspicions are confirmed when Freddy Dornston - the head honcho for my office and a lapdog for the bigwigs - ambles to the front of the room. This man can take the most interesting, inspiring, and lively topic in the world and turn it into a snore-fest, and from the looks of the schedule he’s supposed to be yakking at us for the next hour.

I last all of five minutes. I discreetly slip my phone from my purse, intending to drown out the banal drone of Dornston’s voice with memes and articles from Facebook. Before can I open the app, however, I spot the colorful logo for the nanny cam app that I just installed the other day. The camera itself is set into a rather cliché teddy bear that is now sitting on the mantel in my living room. Thanks to the small house’s open floor plan, the camera lets me glimpse the kitchen and front door as well.

I open the camera app with an inward shrug, interested to see what mischief Midnight has gotten up to in my absence. At first, theres nothing. I figure she must be sleeping on my bed where the camera can’t spy, and I’m just about to go back to my original plan of browsing Facebook when I see something that makes my eyes bulge and my chest constrict.

A woman, roughly my age, is sauntering out of my bedroom. She has raven-black hair, gorgeous features, and she moves with a lithe grace that I aspire to; her simple, black jumpsuit showing off her trim figure. I have absolutely no idea who she is…or what she’s doing in my house. I watch, enthralled and perturbed, as she makes her way into the living room, and then flops down on my couch like she owns the place. I feel the edgy tingle of adrenaline being pumped into my veins and it grapples with my shock and indignation. I feel violated.

“What do you think, Joanna?” I hear Dornston call over the crowd, and I sense other heads turning in my direction as he stares at me expectantly. I drop my phone to my side and push down the swell of panic that momentarily threatens to claim my voice. I offer a savvy smile.

“Teamwork,” I reply confidently, cryptically.

“Teamwork,” Dornston parrots slowly, appraising me as he chews on the word. “Now that’s a perspective that we can go into some detail with. Would you care to elaborate?” he asks.

“Oh no, I wouldn’t want to take your job from you,” I reply with just the right implicative undertone. There’s a swell of appreciative chuckles - particularly from the other managers in my office - and Dornston himself can’t keep from cracking a wide smile. It’s common knowledge that I’m next in line for promotion when the corporate office finally calls their puppy home.

“Well then, let’s talk about teamwork. That actually has a great application for this...”

I’m already no longer paying attention, my focus squarely on the small screen that is clasped in my death grip. At some point the woman turned the TV on, and she’s just sitting there - lounging without a care in the world on my couch. I wonder if I should step out and try to call the police, or if it can wait until the break; as much as I don’t want to be here, I do need to make at least a passingly decent impression on the top dogs.

The woman suddenly stands up, and strides with that uncanny grace to the front door. I watch in horror as she opens it and invites three other people - a younger, red-headed woman with long, flowing locks, a short, middle-aged man with a salt and pepper beard, and a lissome brunette with cropped, brown hair - into my house. They all invade the living room with that same swaying gait, and claim spots on the couch (my couch!).

I’m about to stand up, excuse myself to the lobby, and call the police when I see the sound icon at the bottom corner of the screen. I remember that the camera can also record audio, and I decide to see if I can glean the identities of the intruders before I call them in. I once again slip my hand into my purse, this time fishing for the ear buds at the bottom. I discreetly place one in my right ear, using my hair to cover the device from sight, and turn up the volume.

“Sorry we’re late Ash, that slobbering beast fell asleep right in front of the cat door,” the red-head says casually, addressing the original intruder.

“Ugh, if Joanna ever gets a dog I’m going to drown myself in the water bowl, and I told you to call me Ashley,” she replies mordaciously, but I barely register her name as I feel my stomach plummet to my knees.

How does she know me, what is she talking about? The thoughts echo again and again through my mind, the whole situation refusing to resolve into understanding.

“It hasn’t been all bad. At least he gets Frank and Cheryl out of the house more,” the man replies, and once again I struggle to process what I’m hearing. Frank and Cheryl are the names of my next-door neighbors.

“Are you kidding me?! That thing chewed up my favorite toy,” the brunette pouts.

“That one Joanna brought over for Christmas? I’m sorry, all the catnip in the world couldn’t make that thing any less hideous. I was so glad she didn’t try to give it to me,” Ashley replies snidely, and I gasp to myself. I remember the toy - the stuffed mouse with the feathered tail that I gave to Cheryl for her…

“Cats,” I whisper aloud, bringing my hand up to cup my mouth incredulously as realization floods through my mind. Cheryl and Frank have an eight-month-old orange tabby, a five-year-old Abyssinian, and an older, silver tabby. And they just got a yellow lab. I glance around, but no one seems to have heard my hushed exclamation. I turn back to the camera feed.

“Who forgot to clean your litter box today? Jeesh,” the red-head quips back at Ashley, before giving the brunette a friendly nudge on the shoulder with her head.

Ashley sighs, and addresses the brunette, “I’m sorry Tiff, it’s just been really stressful around here lately. Joanna is so obsessed with her job that she’s been neglecting me - I’ve been able to see the bottom of my food dish for a whole week!” she cries dramatically before letting her head fall into her hands, her black hair cascading around her face.

I watch on, aghast, still not entirely believing what I’m seeing.

“Oh honey, that’s awful. You know you’re always welcome to come over and share some of ours,” the man offers warmly.

Ashley flashes him a weak smile and says, “Thank’s Paul, she hasn’t let it get all the way to empty yet but I swear to Bastet I’ll piss in her bed if she does. I wish I could just refill it myself, but…” she trails off with a loaded shrug.

Indignation colors my brow and cheeks as I feel a wave of anger cresting. That little shit! I fume inwardly.

“It’s so much easier living with two old people. One just thinks the other filled it, or that they don’t remember doing it,” Tiff says offhandedly, then perks up. “Ooh, Charlotte! I saw your boyfriend while I was squirrel-watching earlier,” she purrs suggestively, and the red-head rolls her eyes.

“Ew, Marty’s not my boyfriend. I don’t even know why he keeps coming around, I got fixed months ago,” Charlotte complains.

“Ferals,” Ashley chimes in disdainfully. “Maybe you can get Frank to let that smelly thing out in the yard when Marty comes back next,” she suggests with a dark smirk, and Charlotte howls in delight.

“Oh you’re so mean, I love it! Do you think he could hop the fence before that beast catches him?”

“I think it would be fun to watch,” Paul replies contemptuously, and they all share a laugh.

They continue to converse and gossip about the other house cats and animals on the block as I watch on in dubious fascination. Dornston finally wraps up his segment to a round of half-hearted applause, and we’re released from the dull stuffiness of the conference room for a short break. I immediately rush outside.

“Maybe I’m just losing it,” I say aloud, trying to convince myself that the unambiguous, normal cat that I raised from a kitten isn’t actually a shapeshifter - one who is currently hosting a get-together for three other shapeshifters in my living room. I glance at the camera feed. Nope, they’re all still there.

“Teamwork, huh,” a deep voice rumbles behind me, and I see that Tim, my co-manager, has come out to join me on the balcony. He plucks a cigarette out of his jacket pocket and lights it. “Not bad for someone who wasn’t paying attention,” he comments with a raised eyebrow.

“Shove it,” I retort good-humoredly, and he motions to my phone.

“What were you watching that whole time?” he asks.

“Oh, you know…cat videos,” I reply, unable to keep a nervous laugh from slipping through as I do.

Fortunately he just shakes his head, and after a few more minutes of amicable silence we head back into the conference room. Up next on the itinerary is Jack Fields from the Orlando office to talk to us about profit expansion. He’s at least someone with the potential to put together an interesting segment, but I’m much too captivated by the camera feed to give him the opportunity.

It looks like Ashley got them all glasses of water at some point - ever the consummate host - and the casual conversation is steadily flowing when she suddenly lunges for Charlotte, who had been slowly pushing her glass towards the edge of the coffee table. Ashley bats her hand sharply.

“Don’t even think about it! If that glass breaks I’ll have to listen to Joanna prattle on for 20 minutes about it later. I don’t come to your house and wreck your stuff,” she hisses, and Charlotte flicks her hand in annoyance.

“Jeesh, sorry. It’s just the perfect set-up, you know?” she asks defensively, and all four of them tilt their heads as they examine the glass on the table.

“It is a good one, but I’m the only one that gets to knock things over in my house, got it?” Ashley asserts finally.

“Fine,” Charlotte sulks, lifting her hands in concession.

“How long do we have today, anyways?” Tiff asks.

“She should be out for most of the day, some big thing with work,” Ashley replies with a touch of sarcasm at the end.

I’m anxiously watching to see what happens next when…my phone dies.

“Damnit!” I exclaim to myself, trying futilely to toggle the power button. It’s no use, and I throw my phone back into my purse along with the ear bud in disappointment. I’m sure that I can find either a charging station or someone with a cord at lunch, but I’m loathe to wait that long and I have absolutely no interest in listening to whatever Jack Fields is going on about in the meantime. With few options left, however, I suck it up and wait it out.

Fields’s bit actually isn’t that bad, and the one that follows is relatively entertaining as well. As the clock creeps slowly toward noon, I find myself growing more and more curious about what else the cats are getting up to - and whether or not they’ll still be there when I get home this evening. Lunch time finally comes and I speed to the charging station, forcing myself to leave my phone under the watchful eye of a TCC employee so I can go rub elbows with and otherwise charm my superiors during lunch.

Once that dog and pony show is over I race back to my phone, desperately clinging to the screen as I wait for it to power up. When the camera comes online, I feel that crushing weight of disappointment once again when I see that the house is now empty - save for Midnight (Ashley?) passed out on the couch in cat form. Whatever shenanigans the cats got up to in the last few hours, it had apparently ended.

The afternoon segments drag on, with me going through the motions of the cheesy team-building exercises and participation segments. Every once in a while I check the camera again, but nothing changes - much to my chagrin. At long last I’m able to say my gracious thank-you’s and heartfelt goodbyes, and excuse myself into the crisp evening.

I speed down the Howard Frankland faster than I’ve ever driven, bobbing and weaving through traffic in my desperate bid to get home. I finally pull into the narrow drive, anticipation hurrying my steps as my fingers fumble for my keys. At last I’m pushing the door open, turning on the light to the kitchen, and I spot Midnight - looking for all the world like nothing more than a spoiled house cat - sauntering lazily out of the living room.

“Hello,” I begin, pausing as the trepidation and adrenaline roil inside of me. I size up the cat I thought I knew, and she stares back at me in turn. “Ashley.”