You would think that being downstairs, where the doors and windows are that would be mostly likely broken into were some nefarious soul decide to invade our space, would make me sit up in bed all night, wondering about all the different little sounds that create the symphony of night time. Embarrassingly, I have spent more than my fair share of time wide-eyed and heart pounding in bed, thinking someone who didn't belong here was tip-toeing through the house at night. They never have caught Vacaville's serial rapist, and we have a problem with vandals in the neighborhood. And we do live close to the prison. Really close.

Heck, I've slept better the last couple nights than I have in a long time.

I think it's because from downstairs, where all those sounds originate, I can tell what they are and I don't lie there worrying that the odd little bang is someone slipping in through a broken door. No, I can tell that it's Buddah, his little head banging into the wall after sliding 5 feet across the wood floor as he chases a toy mouse. Or it's Buddah chasing Max, simply for the sheer joy of ticking Max off. Or it's Buddah sharpening his claws on one of the few things he knows he's allowed to scratch on.

Buddah, it seems, is a very noisy little guy at night.

Dinner TheaterSpeaking of the little guy, we're pretty sure he's going to wind up with a raging headache over the next couple of days. The Spouse Thingy put up a bird feeder right outside the window by the chair he likes to lounge on, and he'll probably be running head first into the glass 15-20 times per day as he goes after his little feathered friends.

You think he'd learn after the first 5 times, but of those times the glass might magically vanish, and he could catch himself a tasty little snack.

With my luck, he'll find a way to get himself a bird, and he'll bring me half.

At night.

In bed.

So much for peaceful sleeping.

No comments: