I was sitting in the living room this morning when I noticed something unusual: John Mercer’s phone was ringing. Not unusual by itself, of course. Phones ring all the time. What caught my attention was that John wasn’t anywhere nearby to answer it. The phone buzzed once, stopped, and then started again a few minutes later. Naturally, instead of ignoring it like a normal person, I immediately decided there was a mystery to solve.
Part of the problem was that I was still tired. Pandora and I had grabbed pizza the night before, and my brain was operating at approximately half power. I was trying to remember when we got home, what we’d talked about, and whether I’d actually put the leftovers in the refrigerator or merely thought about putting them in the refrigerator. Somewhere in that foggy state, I remembered Pandora mentioning that she needed to call her mother. Then I remembered John’s phone ringing. Then, for reasons I still can’t explain, my mind connected those two completely unrelated facts.
At first, my theory was simple. Maybe John had stepped out to return a call. Then I wondered who he might be calling. Then I wondered whether he’d received a text message. Within five minutes, I’d somehow convinced myself that the missing phone owner, the unanswered call, and Pandora’s plans to talk to her mother were all pieces of the same puzzle. The fact that I had absolutely no evidence for this did not slow me down in the slightest.
Mr. Whiskers was stretched out on the couch, watching me with the expression of a cat who had witnessed this behavior before. Every time I glanced at John’s phone, Mr. Whiskers seemed to glance at me. It felt judgmental. Admittedly, most things feel judgmental when you’re building a conspiracy theory out of a ringing phone.
As I sat there thinking, I remembered Pandora mentioning that Mrs. Jenkins had been acting a little strangely lately. Not suspiciously strange—just ordinary neighbor strange. The kind of strange that usually amounts to buying too many garden gnomes or arguing with a lawn sprinkler. Unfortunately, my imagination immediately decided that Mrs. Jenkins must somehow be connected to John’s phone. I had no idea how, but that didn’t stop me from trying to figure it out.
By the time John finally walked into the room, I had constructed an entire theory involving missed calls, neighborhood gossip, secret conversations, and at least three assumptions that weren’t supported by reality. John looked at me, looked at his phone, and then looked back at me.
“You’ve been staring at that thing for twenty minutes, haven’t you?” he asked.
“Maybe,” I said.
“It’s my dentist.”
“What?”
“The missed calls. It’s my dentist confirming an appointment.”
Just like that, the entire investigation collapsed. There were no hidden messages. No secret meetings. No mysterious connection between Pandora, Mrs. Jenkins, and a ringing phone. There wasn’t even an interesting story. It was a dentist appointment.
I glanced over at Mr. Whiskers. He slowly blinked at me, which somehow felt even more judgmental than before.
In the end, I learned two valuable lessons. First, not every ringing phone is the beginning of a conspiracy. Second, if John Mercer ever actually does start hiding something from me, I’ll probably miss it because I’ll be too busy investigating perfectly normal events. As for Mr. Whiskers, he spent the rest of the afternoon sleeping peacefully on the couch, completely confident that he was still the smartest creature in the apartment. Honestly, he may have a point.