“Is your license really valid?”

Posted on October 28, 2015 by Badge415

The other night I decided to watch a stop sign in a neighborhood because of a complaint. I parked at an L shaped intersection in plain view for all to see. I was parked along the curb in the dark when this car passed me on the left as it approached the stop sign. The car rolled through the stop and made its turn like I wasn’t there. I threw my lights on and stopped the car, wondering what the heck the driver was thinking.

I walked up to the car and asked the driver why she didn’t stop for the stop sign and if she saw the police car. At first, the driver told me she stopped. After further questioning and a Jedi Mind Trick, she admitted to not stopping. I next asked her if she had a license.

“Not with me,” she replied.

“Where is it at?”

“It broke in half two days ago.”

That was one of the dumbest excuses I had ever heard. Now I was sure her license was either suspended or she was never issued one.

“Is your license valid?”

“Yes.”

I walked back to my car and entered her name into the computer. I knew it was a waste of time because there was no way her license was valid after the “broke in half” excuse. Call me skeptical, but it was a gut feeling.

Of course, it wasn’t valid. Her license expired in 2009 and she had two prior convictions for driving on a suspended license. Her license wasn’t just barely expired. It was really, really expired.

I couldn’t believe she tried telling me it was valid, but it was a nice try. I went back up to the driver and asked her about her license. She again told me it was valid. When do these people give up?

She next said it was set to be renewed in December of 2015. She was getting nervous at this point and started talking more and more. She then said something about failing the written test.

I asked her how many times she had failed the written test in the last year. She said, “Six times.”

“You know, they don’t make you take the test six times if you already have a valid driver’s license?”

“I have to take the test to renew it.”

That’s when she threw out one more excuse, hoping it would stick on the wall somewhere.

“I have a permit.”

“Ok. Show it to me.”

“It’s in storage,” she said.

“That doesn’t make sense. No one would put their permit in storage when they need it to drive,” I said.

Now she needed a diversion. She raised her voice and told me cops make her nervous because of all the things that happen on the news.

“Have I done anything wrong?” I asked.

“No.”

Good, I wanted that for my body worn camera in case she tried to complain about me. I went back to my car and started writing her the ticket. I also called for a tow truck.

When I went back up to the driver door she was upset. She signed the ticket and asked to keep the car. I told her it was getting impounded because her license expired 6 years ago.

She exited the car and said, “I bet you’d let me keep the car if I was white.”

I almost laughed when I heard that since the driver and I were both Hispanic. I wanted so bad to say, “Nope, I’d take the car if you were white too,” but I held my tongue.

Then with a mean and sarcastic tone she said, “Thank you for protecting and serving,”

“Your welcome,” I replied.

She turned toward me with all the evilness she could muster. She even threw some imaginary darts my way with her eyes. Who cares? She lied and I was just doing my job. She could’ve stopped for the stop sign and made things easier for both of us.

After she left I told the tow truck driver what she said. He laughed as he said, “You take everybody’s car. It doesn’t matter if they’re white, black, Asian or Hispanic. If they’re wrong you take the car.”

At least the tow truck driver knew I was fair!

A few days letter there was a note in my mailbox at work from the driver. She left it after getting a release for the impound. The note said she was sorry for being rude at the end of the stop. It also said she was lagging and she finally got her license back.

She wasn’t such a bad person after all. She was just really mad because her car was impounded and that remark was the best she could come up with. At least she has her license now. I bet she stops the next time she comes up to that stop sign.

It’s not every day you get an apology from someone. I actually appreciated the note because she didn’t have to write it. Just another happy ending in police work.

Talking with a drug addict

Posted on September 15, 2015 by Badge415

A few weeks ago I was driving through an intersection when I noticed a transient standing on the median with a sign asking for money. On my second pass around the area I saw the same guy step into the street against the “Don’t Walk” symbol as he walked in front of a car. That’s when I decided I was going to stop and talk with him.

I parked my car in the driveway of a gas station and waited for him to come over to the corner. I told him hi and asked to speak with him. He waved both hands in the air as he said, “Come on man. I’m starving. I’m just trying to make some money.”

I told him I wanted talk for two reasons. The first was about walking in front of the car. The second was because someone had just taken money from the tip jar at my favorite chicken restaurant 100 yards down the street. I gave him the description of the suspect and asked if he had seen that guy walking around here.

He calmed down after hearing that and told me he liked the food at that restaurant too. He also said he hadn’t seen anyone that fit the description.

I then decided to ask him questions about how long he’d been on the street, where he grew up and where his family was. For the next 15 to 20 minutes he talked about being addicted to heroin, being homeless and not being able to walk away from living on the street. He told me where he grew up and said his mother sometimes visited him out here.

I felt bad for his mother and wondered what she had gone through over the years, yet she still drove out to visit him on the street. Based on where she lived, she had to take two different freeways to get here.

I asked him about being able to go back home for help. The man, who was in his early 30s, said he could, but he always ended up back on the street because of his addiction.

I asked how him much he spent a day on heroin. He said, “I spent $45 today and I didn’t even get high. I’m pissed.” He then said, “I spent enough to stay well.”

We talked for a little while longer about what it’s like to have withdrawal symptoms and how he started using drugs, along with his time in jail. He had been nice to me and spoke freely about his problems so I asked, “Do you want a sandwich?”

His eyes lit up as he said, “Yes.”

“It’s salami.”

“I love salami.”

I walked over to my car and got the sandwich out of my cooler. I went back to where he was and handed it to him.

He smiled as he said, “Thanks officer. What’s your name?” I told him and we said goodbye.

I drove away still thinking about his mother coming out to visit him. That wasn’t the first time I’ve heard about a parent coming out to see their homeless adult child on the street. We never wonder about the families and what they sometimes go through. It’s something to think about.

I thought my patrol car was haunted

Posted on August 26, 2015 by Badge415

Have you ever heard voices in the dark? Well, let me tell you a story…..

One night, I was parked behind a building while I was doing paper work in my police car. The night was quiet and there was no one around. The only noise was from my idling engine, the air conditioner and the occasional radio traffic from the dispatcher. I was backed into my spot and I had a clear view if anyone approached from the front.

I was looking down and filling out a report when I heard a whispering raspy sounding voice. I instantly looked up as I wondered what it was. I scanned left and right as I looked for someone, but there was nothing. It was just me in the dark. After a while I decided I must have imagined it and went back to work.

A little while later I heard it again. I looked around, but there was nothing.

This went on for almost two weeks. The voice was random and I could never figure out what it was saying. Other times it sounded like a noise. It was always so low I could barely hear it. I never heard it while I was driving. It was only when I was parked and sitting in the car.

As funny as it sounds, I started to wonder if my car was haunted. I have been driving the same car since 2010 and it never made sounds before. You just shouldn’t hear a strange voice when you’re sitting in the dark.

After the first week I wondered if I should tell someone about it. But how do you bring that up in a conversation? What do you say? “Hey, I’m hearing voices.” Not.

I had three days off and then it was back to work and driving my car again. I worked Wednesday night and it happened again. I started wondering if someone left a cell phone in the car, but there was nothing when I looked in the doors and under the seats. This was starting to creep me out.

The next night I was on a crash and a motor officer sat in my car to look something up on my computer.

He got out of the car and told me he heard something!!! You have no idea how good that made me feel to know it wasn’t just me. I then told him about the noises I was hearing in the car. He gave me the crazy look and said that was weird.

While I was still on the call, an officer named Mike got me on the radio and asked me if anything weird had been going on. He then told me to meet him.

This particular officer is a funny guy and I knew something was up now, so I raced over to see him. When I arrived at his location he asked me if I was hearing weird noises. I told him the story about the voices and the noises I was hearing. He started laughing so hard I knew he had done something.

He went to my car and reached underneath the police radio console and pulled out this round object that looked like a miniature speaker. He pushed something and the raspy male voice came on. OMG!

He then said, “I forgot I put it in there.”

We both started laughing as I told him the stories about my haunted car. I was so relieved to know I wasn’t hearing things. His little sound maker was set to make a noise every so often at random times.

Some people might ask why I didn’t just drive another car. Well, that particular car is the one I like to drive and we’ve been through a lot together. I couldn’t just discard it because of a few strange voices.

It was a once in a life time prank that I’ll never forget. I won’t lie, I was so happy the joke was over.

It’s Badge415’s First Anniversary

Posted on August 4, 2015 by Badge415

Where has the year gone? This week marks Badge415’s first anniversary.

It was August 8, 2014 when I published “The Badge” as the first blog post. Since then there have been 105 other blog posts. It’s hard to believe there have been that many.

I can’t claim credit for the blog and Facebook page though. That credit goes to an old high school friend (@sheanaochoa on Twitter and Sheana Ochoa on Facebook). A little over a year ago, I asked her for advice about getting a book published. It was a phone call that changed everything.

The first question she asked was, “What is your writer’s platform?”

“My what?”

I had no idea what she was talking about. It was like she was speaking a different language to me.

“You need a blog,” she said.

Sheana told me to start writing a blog and people would follow me. I couldn’t imagine writing a blog. That was something other people did. Who want would read my stuff?

That phone call left me with more questions than answers. Part of me didn’t want to write a blog. I couldn’t imagine putting myself out there for all to see. That was as crazy as trying to teach a high school French class. Since I don’t speak French, that would be pretty crazy.

For the next two weeks, I did a ton of research and learned a lot about blogs and writer’s platforms. It was amazing how much information was out there.

Two weeks later, the day came when it was time to launch the blog and the Facebook page. There was a lot of apprehension on my part. The biggest worry was, “What are my friends going to think?”

When it was time, I hit the “publish” button and there was no turning back. The first blog post was out there for all to see, to criticize and to talk about. I wondered if anyone was going to read it. I wondered if anyone was going to care. And finally, I wondered if it was worth it.

A funny thing happened. People started following the blog. Within the second week there were over 500 Facebook likes thanks to the FB page 911- Injured in the line of duty . It was amazing and shocking at the same time.

Since then, I’ve received a lot of positive feedback about the blog. Some of the best feedback has come from fellow officers and non-sworn employees at work.

The subject of the blog comes up all the time on calls. People sometimes ask if the particular call we’re on will make the blog. Others say they’re waiting for the next blog post to come out. Sometimes cops will say they have a blog story for me from something that happened to them. That type of feedback tells me I’m doing something right and I appreciate it.

One of the best comments I got was in the locker room at the end of shift about a month ago. One of the officers said, “My mom loves reading your blog.” That made my day.

Since that first post, the Facebook page has grown to over 1,300 likes and the new Twitter page, @Badge415 has almost 800 followers. The website Behind the Badge OC has also featured some of my blog stories.

Badge415 also won “Best Lifestyle Blog” by the Orange County Press Club for 2014.

And finally, one of the best compliments was from my kids, who like reading the blog also. What else can you ask for?

Thanks again to everyone who has followed the blog. Your support is appreciated.

Stay safe out there.

Protest away, but you never know when you’re going to need a cop

Posted on May 15, 2015 by Badge415

By now most people have heard about the Subway employee and her comments about the two police officers who were killed while on duty in Mississippi.

I was disgusted by this, but not surprised that someone would say something like that. It’s just the way it is in the world we live in.

Her comments were not just about two murdered police officers. They were about all of us and what she thinks of law enforcement in general. That’s fine. She can believe whatever she wants, but who is she going to call when she needs help? Who is she going to call if she’s ever raped? Who is she going to call if one of her children ever got hit by a car?

She’s going to call a police officer.

Three years ago our city experienced civil unrest after a couple of officer involved shootings. There was one particular neighborhood that was a boiling point and officers had to stand by while the district attorney investigators conducted their investigation. The crowd become more violent and additional officers had to be called. This all occurred before I started my shift.

Eventually more officers were needed at the scene and I was sent. When I arrived, I stood in a line alongside other officers while the crowd was acting crazy. I stood there disgusted with the way some of these people were acting.

There was one particular woman who decided I was going to be her civil unrest project. She was upset about something, but I had no idea because I wasn’t even at work when the mess started.

She stood there and yelled at me. She spit on the ground toward my direction. She went on and on as I seemed to be the only one who drew her rage.

I stood there while she raged her personal little war against me, but her protest, anger and free speech fell on deaf ears because I had no idea what she was saying. All I could think of was, “Whatever lady.”

I never forgot what that woman looked like because we spent so much quality time together. I even saw her complaining on the news about the police that night.

Fast forward six months and guess who I got to meet again? You got it. My long lost Spanish speaking spitting protester. She called the police because she needed help. How ironic is that?

What a small world. I was the follow up officer and stood by while he handled the call. I listened as a translator told us why the woman needed the police. Of course, it was for something trivial, but that didn’t stop her from calling 911 when she needed a cop.

I put on a professional face and just stood there. There was nothing for me to say. Her protest that day was more about being mad at the uniform than me. But that doesn’t mean I don’t get to have an opinion about her. Let’s just say, “#@##$!,” might be close to what I wanted to say.

I wondered if she recognized me. She gave me a few looks like she did, but it didn’t matter. I just wanted to get done with the call so I could move on to the next one. When it was time to leave, I silently walked and bit my tongue.

In the end I have a message for people who want to protest.

Protest all you want. On my days off I have better things to do with my time than stand on the sidewalk yelling at people I don’t know. If that’s what you want to do knock yourself out. It’s America.

Just remember this. Who are you going to call the next time you need help? Not the Ghostbusters. You’re going to call a police officer. You have no choice so let’s work together. It’s easier that way.

“Everyone Speaks Tow Truck”

Posted on April 5, 2015 by Badge415

I shouldn’t be surprised at work anymore, but it still happens. Just when I think I’ve seen it all….

On Friday night I went to a call where an unlicensed driver made a left turn in front of another car and they crashed. There was nothing shocking about that because unlicensed drivers crash all the time where I work. It’s the norm rather than the exception.

I went to speak to the unlicensed driver and asked him what happened. He asked me if I spoke Spanish. I told him I didn’t. We weren’t able to communicate so I called for a Spanish speaking officer to respond to assist me.

I called for a tow truck because I was going to impound the unlicensed driver’s truck. I then went to interview the other driver. When I was done with that I stood by waiting for the tow truck and the Spanish speaking officer. That’s when the tow truck pulled up.

I pointed to the crashed truck and told the tow driver that I was impounding that vehicle. That’s when the unlicensed driver said in perfect English, “Why are you taking my truck?”

I actually stared at him for a second wondering how all of the sudden English words were coming out of his mouth. It was like a bolt of lightning struck and turned him into an English speaker. It was of Biblical proportions on Good Friday.

That’s when I said, “I thought you didn’t speak English.”
“I speak a little.”
“784, cancel the Spanish speaker. My driver started speaking English when he saw the tow truck.”
“10-4,” replied the dispatcher.

I was then able to conduct the interview with his English and the “car accident” Spanish that I know.

It was at that moment I was taken back to a saying a friend once said at work. It’s the type of saying that has stayed with me for years and I’ve tried to pass it on to other officers. Those particular words were perfect for this moment…..

“Everyone speaks tow truck.”

No matter what the situation, the sound of a tow truck can wake the heaviest of sleepers. Bring a tow truck into a neighborhood and people will pour out of their apartments.

There could be five police cars parked in a neighborhood and some people might watch. Have a tow truck drive in and doors will fly open. People can’t get out of their apartments fast enough. Even the stray dogs in the area come by to watch.

Up until last night, I had no idea a tow truck had the power to make a person speak English.

Like the saying goes……“Everyone speaks tow truck.”

You Gotta Have Heart

Posted on April 3, 2015 by Badge415

On Wednesday evening I was typing reports in Starbucks. There’s nothing better than having my paperwork spread out all over the table and a drink right next to me. A refill is just steps away.

Every once in a while someone will ask me a question about police work. I don’t mind answering their questions because they get to see me as a real person sitting in Starbucks just like them.

This young guy in his early twenties walked up to me and asked, “Can I ask you a question?”
“Sure.”
“What’s the difference between a reserve officer and a full time officer?”

I told him the difference and I asked him why he wanted to know.

“I was thinking about being a reserve officer. I figured it was a good way to get my foot in the door,” he said.
“Why don’t you put your foot all the way through the door and try to become a fulltime officer?”
“I was in the process with Anaheim and Costa Mesa, but I pulled out.”
“Why?”
“I got this real estate job and I wanted to try it out. Maybe I’ll do both.”

I got the impression his heart wasn’t into it. He said it like he was trying to decide if he should wear Nike or New Balance shoes. His answer was so casual it didn’t seem like he was that serious about it.

Anyone who has been through the hiring process, the academy, field officer training and then working the street, knows this isn’t the right frame of mind.

That’s when I said, “Either you want it or you don’t. This isn’t a job you try out to see if you like it.”

I wasn’t trying to be mean, but I think he needed to hear straight talk. I then went on.

“This is a rewarding job, but it has its moments. I couldn’t imagine doing anything else. You need to take a look in the mirror and decide how bad you want it. This job isn’t for everyone. Your heart has to be into it.”

He told me he understood and said he had been on some ride alongs. I told him about the different types of situations an officers faces and stressed to him how much responsibility went with the job.

That’s when the radio came to life about an injury collision involving a bicyclist and a truck. I told him good luck and I cleaned up my stuff.

A few minutes later, I was standing over a dead body in the street. The victim’s brains were all over the place.

I then thought back to the guy at Starbucks. I wondered how he would’ve reacted to seeing this.

I could tell he was young and maybe this wasn’t the job for him right now. I’ve spoken to other people his age that were so much more focused about where they were going in life and what they wanted to do. Maybe I was the fork in the road of life for him right now. Only time will tell.

Like I told him, this job isn’t for everyone. It takes a certain type of person to do it. Some people are just made for the job. For some, it’s a calling. It requires sacrifice and determination. I could go on and on, but there’s one thing in the world that’s the most important.

You gotta have heart.

The Highs and Lows of The Job

Posted on March 21, 2015 by Badge415

Tonight was the perfect example of how one call can be a complete polar opposite of the very next.

I went to a call involving two tourist who just happened to crash into each other. This woman drove two hours to watch her granddaughter compete in a cheerleading competition today. She was on her way home when her vehicle was disabled in the collision.

She was now stranded far from home with no transportation. Taking a taxi was not an option. If she wanted a rental car she would have to go to the Orange County Airport because everything else was closed. That wasn’t going to work either.

She now needed a hotel room for the night. I told the woman I wasn’t going to leave her alone and I would drive her to whatever hotel she wanted to go to.

We were in front of the Double Tree Hotel, so she checked there first. They were having trouble finding her a room and it looked like I was going to drive her somewhere else.

While we waited, she showed me a competition photo of her granddaughter and she asked about my family.

The hotel finally found her a room and it was time for me to leave. The woman thanked me again for staying and not leaving her alone. She then asked, “Can I give you a hug?” I told her she could and we both smiled. She then gave me a giant hug and I left.

I was feeling pretty good after that because it’s not every day in this job that you have an interaction like that.

The very next call didn’t have the same happy ending.

I heard the call go out over the radio about a woman who was not breathing and a family member was performing CPR at that moment. I was close by and off I went with lights and siren.

I was hired in 1994 and graduated from the academy in February of 1995. Up until last summer I had never performed CPR on anyone except for the dummy at training.

Now I was en route to CPR attempt number three since August. The first two times didn’t work out for me or the victims. Now I was feeling apprehension and dread as I raced toward the house because I knew I was going to be the first one there.

When I pulled up to the house I was mentally prepared for what I was about to do. This was different than when I performed CPR the first two times.

I went into the upstairs bedroom and there was a woman in her mid-sixties lying in a hospital bed. A man was bent over doing chest compressions on his wife of forty-five years.

I then took over for him as he watched with hope. This didn’t look good, but I still had to try. She had a lifeless look on her face and some type of fluid was coming out of her mouth.

I was in an awkward position, but I kept pumping away as I waited for the paramedics. Two minutes seemed to take forever until they arrived. When they did, they hooked up a monitor and checked for a heartbeat.

She was flat lined and they pronounced her right there. They then pulled the sheet over her face and told the family they were sorry for their loss.

She was about the same age as the woman who just hugged me on the last call.

There was nothing else I could have done. I stood in the hallway as her husband called someone and said, “Mom’s dead.”

I felt kind of weird being there to hear him make that call since this was such a private moment. It took me back to when I told my kids that my father had passed away.

Now it was time for them to grieve for their wife, mother and grandma. It was also time for me to go to another call.

Tonight was the perfect example of the roller coaster ride we call police work.

This job is also just like Forest Gump and his box of chocolates. You never know what you’re going to get……

Taking my son on a ride along

Posted on January 14, 2015 by Badge415

How many people can take their son to work?

I’m lucky enough to have a job where my kids want to go to work with me. My son, Michael got to go on a ride along this past Friday night. He sees spending ten hours in a police car with dad as an adventure.

As we walked out to my patrol car, I could see the spring in his step. He was ready to go and expected to see chaos at any moment.

Every officer knows that a busy and exciting night for a ride long means paperwork for the chauffeuring officer. A boring night for a ride along means a nice and relaxing shift for the same officer.

There’s such a thing called the “ride along curse.” The curse means that nothing happened and the night was boring for the ride along.

Michael has no idea what the ride along curse is. Each time he has gone it has been busy with us going call to call. After the first ride along he told me he wanted to be a police officer.

Friday night was busy as usual. We went non-stop from 5PM to midnight before things calmed down. There were a couple of things from that night which stood out as funny.

At one particular traffic accident, I had to get into the ambulance before they transported the driver away. I told my son to stay with one of the officers. He said, “Can I go? I’ve never been inside an ambulance.”

Most parents would be glad their child has never been inside an ambulance, which was why it was so funny to me when he said it.

We walked over to the ambulance and I got inside to speak with the driver. I let my son come inside and stand on the first step so he could listen.

We left there and responded to another injury accident. This time he got his wish to go Code 3. I heard, “This is cool,” coming from my passenger side as I passed cars on the wrong side of the road.

After that we went to a call involving a baby who was choking. The location was close so I headed that way with my lights and siren on.

As I came up on stopped cars in front of me, I started to slow down. That’s when I heard this tapping sound coming from inside the car, but I didn’t know what it was.

I passed the stopped traffic and came up to an intersection when I suddenly slammed on the brake. I decided at the last moment to turn left instead of going straight because it was going to be faster. I heard the same noise again.

I then asked my son if he was stomping down on the imaginary brake pedal on his side of the car. He laughed and said yes. Now I knew what the noise was.

We arrived at the call just as an officer advised over the radio that the child was breathing. We got out of the car just as the ambulance and paramedics arrived. There was nothing for me to do so I walked back to my car. Michael looked like he had been cheated because we were leaving so fast.

Moments before he was stomping on his imaginary brake pedal while going to a choking baby call and now we were leaving. He wanted to see more action.
There were other calls after that, but after four reports and three Code 3 runs later, I had to do paperwork. I decided to head to the traffic office so I could type.

The first question out of his mouth was, “How long are we going to be here?”
I replied, “As long as it takes.”
“You mean an hour?”
“I don’t know.”

He was like an alarm clock, because an hour later he asked if I was done. I told him not yet. He started pacing around and then asked, “Can I help you with something?” I laughed and told him I had to do the work myself.

An hour after that I heard, “I’m bored.”
I told him doing reports was the other side of police work that people don’t see.

I put him out of his misery and we went back outside for one last drive around. I stopped by a donut shop and got him some fresh donut holes.

We then cruised down one of our major highways. At one intersection he asked, “Is that where the boy died?”

He knew the story from a few months ago when my partner and I performed CPR on a ten year old boy at a crash. I was surprised he remembered the intersection from when I showed him during another ride along.

The shift was finally over and I drove back to the station. My son mentioned waiting around for something else to happen. I told him our night was done and it was time to head in.

Once in the back lot, I unloaded my gear and parked the police car. I turned in the key and changed to go home. As we walked out to my car my son told me how much fun he had tonight.

On the way home Michael told me he wasn’t tired yet. We talked about the night and the crazy stuff people do to get into trouble.

We pulled into the garage and we were back in our little world, which was far from the one I work in.

He had fun that night and I hope he appreciates what he has compared to other people. I’m glad I was able to give him a peek into a world that most people will never see or know about.

Right before he went to bed he gave me a hug and he said, “Thanks for taking me tonight.”

It made me smile because I knew he meant it.

The Zombie Almost Got Me

Posted on January 9, 2015 by Badge415

As an officer, dealing with dead bodies is part of the job. Every first responder has a dead body story. Some are more unusual than most.

I had one dead body call that was different for sure. It was so different, I can still picture it like it was yesterday.

Way back in the day, my FTO and I were dispatched to a dead body call at a mobile home. The fire department originally responded to the location for a medical aid call. They ended up finding a possible suicide instead.

When I walked into the mobile home there was a musty smell like the windows hadn’t been opened in years. It was just stagnant air mixed with dust. There was a cluttered look about the place where things were stacked everywhere.

The decor of the place made it seem like I traveled in time to the late 1960s or early 1970s.

The deceased elderly woman was sitting in a recliner with an old knitted blanket covering her. You could see the outline of her body under the blanket with her hands on the chair’s arm rest. The only thing showing was her feet and lower legs from under the blanket.

There was a bottle on the end table that was tipped over with some pink pills spilled out.

I pulled the blanket off of her head and she looked dead for sure. Her head was tilted to the right and her eyes were closed. At least she wasn’t staring at me and there was no smell yet.

There was pink drool on the right side of her mouth and chin. The pink drool had the same color of the pills that were spilled on the end table.

After I was done looking at the body, I covered her back up and sat down at the kitchen table to write my report. I called the coroner and waited for him to arrive. My training officer sat at the table with me as I started my paperwork.

It was pretty quiet except for the occasional radio transmission.

Being new, it was a little weird to sit in a stranger’s home while you waited for the coroner to take their lifeless body away. Even more so when she was sitting in her chair next to you like she was taking a nap. Except she had a blanket covering her head like she was hiding.

It was deathly quiet when I saw something move out of the corner of my eye. Did I see that right?

I looked toward the dead body and saw something moving under the blanket where her left arm was. My FTO and I almost jumped out of our chairs as we quickly turned toward the body.

It looked like the woman’s left arm was moving under the blanket!

Adrenaline shot through me as I wondered what was going to happen next. The arm started moving more and more. Was the dead woman now a zombie coming back to life?

Just as the zombie was ready to attack, this little kitten poked its head out from under the blanket where the hand was.

I won’t lie, I let out the deepest breath ever. I remember my FTO doing the same.

It was the funniest thing in the world and the biggest sense of relief too. Who would’ve thought the kitten was spending its final moments with her?

When I started my shift that night I had no idea I might be eaten by a zombie.