There needs to be a law for people who live in upstairs apartments: No dropping things at 6:30 in the freaking morning.

There was this loud =bang= right at 6:30 this morning and I woke up, thinking the cat had knocked something over in the living room or kitchen. I reached for my glasses and muttered, “Max, what did you do?”

He answered me from the other side of the bed. “Meow?” which I believe roughly translated into, “That wasn’t me, dammit, get out of bed and go see who’s trying to kick the front door in!”

Big brave kitty, instead of following me into the living room as my backup, burrowed under the blankets and waited. I flipped lights on, looked out the peephole…nothing. Then I head the people upstairs scurrying around and realized it had to be them. Someone must have dropped something.

And if you think about it, if someone had been trying to break into the house, there’s not a whole lot I could do about it, half dressed and mostly still asleep. I’d like to think I still have a righteous front kick that could knock someone into the next country, but the reality is that I’d probably stand there frozen, peeing my pajama pants. And the cat would be no help, hiding under the bed blankets, waiting for me to come tell him everything is all right.

He came out once I crawled back into bed, and immediately began the Dance Of The Hungry. He spent the next hour jumping on me, crawling over me, head butting me, and hollering at me. But be my toothy little backup to a Big Bad Intruder?


I got up 3 hours ago, and you’d think I would have gotten an early start on my day.
You’d think.

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