Last night, or rather early this morning, I woke up around 3 a.m. The cat was curled up next to me, rhythmically breathing, sound asleep. Berck was in the downstairs bedroom because it’s cooler down there, and he makes me leave if I wake him up snoring. I couldn’t go back to sleep, so I scrolled through Facebook, Google News, and Reddit. The cat woke up with my fidgeting, finally leaving the bed around 4, which is around the time he gets up anyway. He yowled at the kitchen window, probably to the neighbor’s visiting black cat, but only for a while. I finally drifted back to sleep around 5.

What seemed like only a few minutes later, I was awoken by a commotion in the kitchen. At first I thought it was the cat clumsily knocking things over, but then I realized it was too loud and kept going on for too long. I saw a light from the direction of the kitchen and figured Berck had gotten up, turned on the light above the stove, and was rummaging around in the cupboard for the Tang. It sounded like he was having trouble finding it, even though I was sure I had left it right in front on the shelf. Then it sounded exactly like he dropped two ice cubes into a glass, which I thought was strange because he doesn’t usually drink Tang with ice. The rummaging eventually stopped, the light went out, and I never heard his footfalls heading back downstairs.

I was pretty annoyed that I had been woken up right when I managed to fall back asleep. I tossed and turned until 7:30, when I decided to just give up and get up. I was even more annoyed when I came into the kitchen and found the cupboard doors still open and some of the contents strewn on the floor. Berck must have had a rough night trying to find the Tang, which, just as I remembered, was right in front on the shelf.

That wasn’t the only thing on the floor. The plunger for the coffee maker and a coffee filter had also fallen down, and the pepper grinder, a bottle of vinegar, and a bottle of olive oil were on their sides on the kitchen counter.

Berck had made me some coffee the day before, which was still sitting on the counter. I poured it into a mug, even though it wasn’t remotely hot, and got a milk carton out of the fridge with just enough milk in it to add to my coffee. I then sipped my drink and stared past the cat, who was sitting in the kitchen windowsill, staring back at me. I thought about how clearly I could see the tree leaves in the front yard and up to the road. It must be my new glasses prescription, I mused. The cat blinked at me from his perch in the open window.

The open window.

My sleep-deprived morning brain finally registered that the reason why I could see so clearly out the window was because the screen was missing. The cat, who is a strictly indoors cat, had not tried to escape through the completely open window, or if he had, had then returned. I went outside to find the screen lying on the ground next to my other hummingbird feeder along with the snapped piece of string that had formerly suspended it from the eaves. The cat swiveled his head around to stare at me through the open window, with me now standing outside the house.

I put the screen back in place. The screen is made of Kevlar to keep the cat from tearing it up. The cat, in fact, can hang his entire body weight from the screen with his claws without damaging the screen. But now there were five indentations in the screen. That would have taken quite a bit of force.

After moving my cat’s paws out of the way and replacing the screen, I came back inside and stared at the open cupboard. There was something missing. I looked back outside.

Yes, that is a completely empty 4.5 lb bag of Nestle chocolate chips from Costco in the front yard. No, there are no chocolate chips left on the ground.

I started chuckling. Berck came upstairs, complaining about the cat making a giant racket in the kitchen that morning, which confirmed what I already knew. It wasn’t Berck rummaging around the kitchen in the middle of the night. A closer inspection of the cupboard doors revealed some new scratches.

Berck checked the cameras.

This is obviously a big problem, however, it’s sadly possibly a self-solving one. Just like for dogs, chocolate is toxic for bears, though it’s unclear how much will kill a bear (though the Internet suggests around 10 lbs will).

We agreed that it was a dang good thing neither of us thought it was actually a home invader in the kitchen, since any confrontation in that confined a space can’t have ended well.