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I glanced around, and when I didn’t see any paws going up, not even Brutus’s, I decided to stick mine up. I mean, I’m not the bravest cat in the world—anything but—but when it comes to protecting my turf I can usually be relied upon to go the extra mile.

“I’ll come, too,” said Brutus.

“And me,” said Dooley.

“Oh, maybe I’ll join you guys,” said Harriet with an eyeroll. “It just wouldn’t feel right for me to stay behind while you all go into battle,” she explained.

And so it was decided: we’d all go in search of this intrepid intruder, and make sure we got his or her features committed to memory so we could offer our humans a nice description.

And as one cat, we all slid down from our new favorite couch, and set paw for the staircase. And we’d just reached the bottom of the stairs when the curious sounds intensified.

“That’s clearly not a mouse,” said Harriet.

“Or a rat,” grunted Brutus.

“Oh, you guys,” said Dooley with a slight whimper. “I’m getting really scared now.”

“Don’t be scared, Dooley,” I said. “We’re cats. Whoever these intruders are, we can easily outrun them—if they even happen to notice us in the first place.”

Humans, as a rule, usually fail to pay attention to pets wandering about the home—and that goes double for intruders, who watch out for dogs, and neglect to see the danger in cats—at their own peril, I might add.

So we all snuck up the stairs, not making a single sound, listening carefully all the while. The sound seemed to come from… the attic. And once we were upstairs, I saw that indeed the attic ladder had been pulled down, and it now became clear to me that someone was rummaging around up there.

“Who wants to go first?” asked Harriet, as she darted nervous glances at the hole in the ceiling that led up to the attic.

“I’ll go,” I said with a shrug. “I don’t mind.” I’d already figured out how this was going to go down, too: I’d simply sneak up that ladder, and then take a quick peek around the attic and see what was going on. I wasn’t entirely without a sense of approaching danger, but frankly my curiosity trumped my sense of self-preservation at that moment, behavior I’ve been told is typical for cats.

“I’ll be right behind you,” said Brutus, who didn’t want to look weak in front of his lady.

“And me,” said Dooley, whose curiosity seemed to have been piqued, too.

“And me,” said Harriet after a moment’s hesitation.

And so it was decided: I carefully navigated that folding wooden ladder first, then Brutus, then Dooley, and finally Harriet brought up the rear.

And as I raised my head and took a peek, I saw that a person wearing a motorcycle helmet was opening and closing drawers in a dresser located on the other side of the attic. The person looked pretty buff, and was dressed in a black leather jacket, black jeans and heavy work boots. He looked like a man to me, and definitely not a member of the Poole family.

“What do you see?” asked Brutus.

“A man!” I whispered. “He’s opening and closing drawers!”

“What’s going on?” asked Harriet from lower on the ladder.

“Max says that it’s a man!” Brutus loud-whispered.

“It’s a man!” said Dooley, sounding panicky.

“A man!” Harriet cried. “What man?”

“Harriet is asking for the man!” said Dooley.

“Harriet wants to know about that man!” Brutus said.

“You don’t have to shout!” I said. “I can hear Harriet perfectly fine. He’s wearing a motorcycle helmet, so I can’t see his face.”

“He’s wearing a motorcycle helmet so Max can’t see his face!” said Brutus.

“Max is wearing a motorcycle helmet so he can’t see the man’s face!” Dooley translated the message.

“Why is Max wearing a motorcycle helmet?” asked Harriet, confused.

The man, meanwhile, must have become aware that he was being watched, for he now looked up, and I saw that he was staring intently in my direction. I ducked down. It’s never a fun prospect to be attacked by a man wearing a motorcycle helmet. And this motorcycle man looked like he might very well eat cats for breakfast—literally!

“Lemme see,” now said Harriet, and shoved Dooley aside, then squeezed past Brutus, and finally joined me on the top step.

“I think he saw me!” I said. “He was looking straight at me just now.”

“Oh, nonsense,” said Harriet. “Humans never pay attention to cats.” And with these words, she popped her head up. Moments later, she popped down again. “Max?” she said.

“Yes?”

“I think you’re right. I think he saw us.”

“And what makes you say that?”

“Because he’s right here, staring at me!”

And as I slowly glanced up, I saw that Harriet wasn’t lying: the man was now face to face with me, and so I yelped in fear.

“Cats!” the man growled, not sounding all that fond of our species. “I should have known.”

And with these words, he grabbed both me and Harriet by the scruff of our necks, and hoisted us up and into the attic proper, then proceeded to carry us away.

Now I know I should have put up a fight at this point, but I was so startled by this unexpected development that the thought didn’t even cross my mind, and clearly it didn’t cross Harriet’s mind either!