Paranoia

Last night, Dave and I had settled in for a quiet evening, which turned out to not be so quiet. For one thing, I was a nervous wreck. Max was outside, and it was raining. I knew that visibility would be low, and was praying he wouldn't try to cross the street. I don't know if people realize this, but it's harder to see a tabby at night than any color of cat, including black. I just couldn't stop worrying, but I did get out my knitting, which at least kept me from pacing the floor.
A little after nine, my cell phone rang. I didn't recognize the number on the screen, but the area code was local, so I answered it. It was the police department, telling me they had just recieved a 911 call from my number. I hadn't even touched my phone, much less called 911. When I told them that, they asked for my address, so they could document the call. I grew suspicious. I didn't know if it was really the 911 services or if someone was trying to get my address. I handed the phone to Dave, who told her we'd call her right back. When he called back, it was indeed the police department. The caller's supervisor had recognized Dave's voice, and new something was up. They had made a mistake with the numbers, and mine wasn't the number they needed.
No harm done...except the police department thinks Dave's wife is a paranoid freak. Oh well, they're not the only ones, right?