Tyler pulled the rocking chair back into a corner, and straightened the rug. His clothes were in the dresser, neatly folded, and the entire attic had been cleaned to perfection. Marigold lay on his bed, basking in a sunbeam. He yanked the vacuum cleaner's cord from the wall, looked at her little orange ears, and said, "I'm afraid you're going to have to move."

He picked up the vacuum and carried it down the stairs, wrapping its cord around its handle. In the living room, his grandmother sat near a window, and her CD player was on, pumping that freestyle and pounding out a sick beat.... Actually, no. The Wizard of Oz soundtrack was drifting throughout the room. He laughed to himself as he opened a closet door and set the vacuum inside. 

Back upstairs, he went to the bed. He stuck one hand under Marigold's back, and she rolled over and did that thing cats can do when they suddenly make themselves twenty pounds heavier. "Come on," he said, "you don't want to be here when...." Using both hands, he pried her from her spot and carried her down the stairs. 

He dumped her into his grandma's lap and heard a car door slam. He went to the window, and saw his uncle in the driveway. "Is that them?" she asked. 

"No," he said, and went to the door and pulled it open. "It's just Mike."

He went into the bathroom and looked in the mirror. His hair was still wet from the shower, and he had a slight razor burn on one cheek. As he stepped into the kitchen, he straightened his collar and tucked in his shirt. Gotta look good for the probo guy... and it was also important to have a full bladder. He opened the fridge and grabbed an energy drink, screwed off its lid and gulped it down. 

Back in the living room, Mike stood at the window. "I guess he goes through the whole house?"

"Just a few random places, really," Tyler said. "So you never know where he's going to look."

"I guess it's kind of creepy."

"Well," his grandma said, stroking Marigold, "it ain't going to be pleasant."

"And they have to record things like how clean your house is and whether you have food in the kitchen." 

"That's weird." 

They waited in silence, and then Mike had a sudden question. "Does he look in your wallet?"

"I guess he could if he feels like it."

"Let me have that fake I.D.," he said, and held out his hand. 

Tyler laughed. "Why?"

"Just let me have it."

Tyler pulled his wallet from his back pocket. He slid out the card and handed it to him. Mike left the room, and a minute later they heard the toilet flush. "What did you do?" Tyler asked, as he came back into the living room.

Mike sat down on the sofa. "I disposed of it."

"Good heavens," his grandma said. "Where did you get a fake I.D.?"

Tyler looked out the window. "From this guy."

The clock on the wall struck the hour. "Might as well turn this off," his grandma said, and pointed the remote. Silence filled the room, and through the window, Tyler saw a car drive into sight. "Is that...." It parked at the curb and its door opened. "Okay, he's here," Tyler said, and went to the front door. 

 He opened the door and waited for the guy to come up the walk. "Tyler McShane?" he asked, as Tyler held the door and he climbed the porch steps. 

"Uh-huh."

"I'm Officer Samson."

"Well, come in." 

He stepped into the living room, and set down his probo-guy supplies. He wore a sort of semi-uniform: a black polo shirt with a badge-like crest on one side, and khakis and black shoes. Around his waist were strapped handcuffs and a walkie-talkie-type thing, but no gun. He sat on the couch, one cushion away from Mike, and Tyler found a chair. 

"Okay, and who do we have here?"

"My grandmother, Mary Ann," Tyler said, "and my Uncle Mike. He's also my employer."

"All right," he said. He opened a briefcase and took out some papers, and then came the questions. 

"Have you had drugs or alcohol in the past thirty days?" 

No.

"Have you had marijuana?"

No.

"Are you using prescription drugs?" 

No, no. 

"Have you had any encounters with law enforcement, even a parking ticket?"

No. 

"Do you or any other members of your household own any guns?" 

No and no and no. 

Then Tyler had to tell him that he lived there with his grandmother - just them and the cat. His grandfather had died a few years ago, and his grandma was retired - living on savings and Social Security. His parents were married and lived in another county, and he was an only child. He didn't have any health issues aside from his right ear, which didn't prevent him from working or anything else. He'd had all his Covid shots, and yes, he was a good boy and helped his grandma around the house. 

"Who mows the grass?" 

"I do," Mike said. 

"But I could," said Tyler, and laughed. 

Then came the questions about work. He was newly employed by Kelsey Feed & Farm Supply, which was owned by Mike and his husband, Lee. He'd only been there a day but he liked the work and was going to stay for the foreseeable future. He was asked how much he made, and questioned about health insurance and worker's benefits. "And how do you get to and from work?"

"Well, my grandma drove me yesterday," Tyler said, "but I could drive myself if she doesn't need the car, or I could walk. It's close enough."

Then he had to sign some papers, and his grandma had to sign some papers, and so did Mike. And Tyler wrote a check - $125 for the home visit and another sixty for his drug test. Before this whole thing happened, he wouldn't have thought you actually had to pay for those things yourself, but....

Then came the unpleasant part. 

Mike and Tyler and his grandma sat silently in the living room while the officer went through the house. They heard kitchen cabinets opening and closing, and heard him descend the basement stairs. He came up again and went into the bathroom, and Tyler thought he heard porcelain scraping porcelain as the lid of the toilet tank was removed. He re-entered the living room to ask Tyler where he slept. "In the attic," he said, and pointed. "Just up the stairs."

So the guy left the room and climbed the squeaking staircase. Tyler pictured him going through his drawers and shaking out his blankets and slithering down to look under the bed. That energy drink was really starting to do its trick, and he stood up and paced back and forth. When Samson came back down, he said he'd have to search the car. Tyler turned to his grandma and asked, "Where are the keys?" 

"In my purse," she said. "In the bedroom."

"Mm-kay."

He went to her room and found her purse hanging on the closet door. He unzipped it and dug around inside, grabbed the keys and took them back out to the living room. Officer Samson followed him outside, and Tyler beeped open the car doors. He waited on the porch while Samson looked under the seats and in the glove compartment. "Can you pop the trunk?" he asked, and Tyler clicked it open. 

He glanced inside and slammed the trunk back down, and then looked down the driveway. "Is that shed locked?" 

"I don't know," Tyler said, and stepped down to the grass. He went to the shed and tried its handle, and the door glided open. He stepped in and found the light switch, and flicked it up and down. Nothing happened, and he looked at the ceiling. The light sockets were empty, and cobwebs adorned the corners. "I don't think anyone's been in here in a while."

Samson stepped inside while pulling a flashlight from his belt. He shone a bright beam over the shelves for a few seconds, and then was apparently satisfied. Tyler followed him back down the driveway to the house. 

They stepped back into the living room, and then came the funnest part of all. 

Officer Samson sat back down on the couch, opened that black box he had and took out a little plastic cup and a pair of rubber gloves. Tyler had to show his I.D., and had to sign some other papers. Then they accompanied each other to the bathroom. Officer Samson set the plastic cup on the sink and stretched on the rubber gloves. Tyler stood with his arms out to the sides while his pockets were searched. Then he had to wash his hands thoroughly with soap, and then the officer sat on the edge of the tub for a better view. Tyler unscrewed the cup's lid, unzipped his pants and went to it.

When he finished he screwed the lid back on and handed it over. They went back to the living room, and Officer Samson produced a permanent marker. Tyler signed the paper sticker on the cup, and wondered what percentage of humans had had the pleasure of autographing their own urine. 

"Well, looks like everything's all right here," Samson said, as he packed up his supplies. He reminded Tyler that he couldn't leave Missouri for the next three years, and any violations of the terms of his probation could result in fines or jail. He would have another visit in thirty days, but a random drug test could, and probably would, be ordered at any time. He gathered his stuff, and Tyler followed him to the door. 

They stepped out to the porch, and Tyler watched him leave. He went back in and said, "Well, that's over." 

"For now," Mike said.