Murder in the Morning

Anyone who knows me understands that I’m the sort of person you can text at 1 a.m. and usually not worry about waking. In fact, there are nights—more than I’d like to number—where I’m still wide awake at 4 a.m. even when I know I have to be up at some ungodly hour like 7.

Such was not the case last night. (Well, technically this morning.) I didn’t have any place to be at an early hour, and so I felt no compunctions about staying up until 4:30 reading. All I needed to do to get my seven or eight hours of beauty rest was simply sleep in. And I was so looking forward to it until…

Thump! Clank! Clank!

I rolled over groggily and checked my phone for the time. 7:21 a.m. What the actual fignewton was going on? (I’m going to replace f-bombs with fignewton because Fig Newtons are tasty and reasonably high in fiber.)

I got up, peed (thank the gods for master bathrooms), and went back to bed, but I was now alert for strange noises and couldn’t relax. That’s when my shiba inu, Toshi, barked excitedly from downstairs.

My house is an 1890 country Victorian. Aside from all the squeaky floorboards and other quirks, it has an old iron grate that sits above the wood stove. Once, the vent’s primary function was to allow heat to travel to the upstairs.  Now, it’s merely an amplifier for every single sound my pets or family members make, especially while I’m trying to sleep.

Clank! Clank! Continue reading

Advertisements