The Man Who Never Needs to Knock

After getting home from my business trip, I opened the door to find Kate Swanson and Samuel Lambert sitting in the living room, laughing and chatting away.

There was no movement at the door. Muffin wasn't rolling around by the door, demanding attention while welcoming me home like he always did.

I frowned. "Muffin?"

It was only then that Kate turned around from her seat on the couch to look at me.

She scoffed indifferently. "After a whole week away, you come home, and the only thing you care about is the cat. We have a guest, for goodness' sake. Muffin doesn't like Samuel, so I locked him up in his cage."

I set down my suitcase and went straight to the cat enclosure to check on Muffin.

The little guy looked a little weary, and he rubbed his head against my palm as he meowed his complaints.

When I crouched in front of the enclosure, I noticed that once again, there was a grape in Muffin's bowl in the corner.

"Muffin is a good boy. He never loses his temper for no reason." I took out the bowl, then dumped the kibble along with the grape into the trash can. I had a cold look in my eyes. "Unless someone is actively trying to hurt him."

Samuel's face turned pale, and he subconsciously looked to Kate for help.

Receiving the signal, Kate immediately frowned and looked at me. "Jonathan, it's not that big of a deal. Can you stop fussing over every little thing?

"Samuel was just messing around. Also, Muffin can get used to the smell of grapes so that he won't accidentally eat them in the future. This will do him some good.

"Come on, I'm Muffin's mom. Do you think I'd actually hurt him?"

I didn't bother arguing. Instead, I turned around and went to the kitchen. I opened the fridge, intending to whip up a meal for Muffin.

But when I peered inside, the three jars of pickles that should've been there were nowhere to be found.

In their place was a homemade grape-flavored cake.

I looked around, only to find that the three jars of pickles, which Dad had worked so hard to preserve and deliver, were in the trash can.

The glass jars were shattered from the impact, and the cucumber strips, which had been neatly sliced and arranged in the jars, were buried in between the shattered glass.

My heart sank as I remembered the phone call from Dad a week earlier.

"Jon, remember the cucumbers we planted back home? We just harvested them, and they look plump and juicy. I know you love pickles, so I preserved some and had them delivered to you. Don't worry, I cut out all the watery centers.

"No matter how busy you and Kate are with work, don't skip breakfast, okay? My pickles go best with scrambled eggs and toast."

But I didn't even get a bite of the pickles Dad had carefully preserved and delivered.

Turning around, I went out of the kitchen to see Kate and Samuel lounging on the couch, laughing and bantering.

I asked, "Who threw out the pickles in the fridge? They were from my dad."

Samuel casually turned to look at me. "Sorry, Jonathan. Your fridge is just too small. I can't leave my homemade cake out at room temperature, so I had to make space somehow.

"It's all Kate's fault. When you guys were just moving in, I told her to get the double-door fridge so that I could stock up more of my favorite sports drink and stuff, but she disagreed. She said you've already planned the whole kitchen layout, and it can't be changed, so I'll have to make do with it."

As he spoke, Samuel gave Kate a complaining yet playful punch.