Last night’s late night drama was the election upset. If you’re not in Ashvegas, you probably don’t give a damn about city council elections, so you can skip this paragraph. If you’re here, and you didn’t vote yesterday, you’re irresponsible and I’m officially upset with you. Voter turnout was low and the progressives lost a seat to a Repub with no political experience. For more incisive analysis and real numbers, y’all can visit the AC-T, Scrutiny Hooligans or Ashvegas.
The past several nights have seen a remarkable variety of late night drama (LND) at the pnav: including the fire department, the police, midnight cat visits, and prodigious cat vomit.
Four nights ago, I was reading in my jammies, snuggling with Biscy the Dorkie Poo, when bright lights flashed through my bedroom window. I lifted the blind and saw Fire Truck #7 at my doorstep and three fire fighters moving quickly up the front walk. I called to E-spouse, who was in his office working. We both threw on some clothes and ran downstairs as the fire fighters pounded on the door.
Turned out that a 911 call had come from our house–from, specifically, E’s work phone. The fire fighter told us that cordless phones often erroneously call 911 when they are off the charger and their battery’s dying. I couldn’t get from him why this happens. Is the phone calling for help? Asking to be restored to the charger, please? Or do cordless phones call 911 after a certain amount of time in case their owners have died and are being eaten by their Dorkie Poo?
Anyway, E had made an international call and must’ve dialed 911 instead of O11 by accident. Then, when his call didn’t go through, he tried again, so the 911 dispatcher couldn’t get through to ask if he’d meant to call for assistance.
The fire fighters were understanding and left. Then, 10 minutes later, a policeman showed up. He hadn’t received the “it’s okay” call from the fire department or the dispatcher or whomever calls the other responders off. He’d already circled the house and asked E-spouse for identification and for details as to who was upstairs. I was back in bed and decided not to get up and get re-dressed again. I considered yelling “Help!” but I realized the police might not find that funny.
Anyway, E clearly did not seem suspicious, and when the policeman saw Biscy, he warned E that he’d left the back gate open. Good to know.
The next night some neighbor’s cat got in through the cat door, which is locked so Houdini, the fractured feline, can’t escape. First Rocky freaked out and started doing that deep in his throat howling thing that sounds like a baby crying. That freaked Biscy out, who ran around the house like a mad dog, barking and howling, until he cornered this sweet little black cat. The cat clearly belonged to someone, although it was collarless. When I opened the front door, the cat haughtily slinked out, ignoring the territorial little dog howling at his heels.
Seeing the cat leave the pnav was not enough for the Bisc because he could still smell the damn cat. Bisc then proceeded to sniff around and bark spasmodically for another hour. At 1 a.m. Finally, I wrestled the puppy to sleep by holding him on my stomach in the bed and scruffing him every time he started to bark. After 1/2 an hour of fighting me, he finally settled down and went to sleep. There are, definitely, some advantages to having a small dog. I don’t imagine I could have wrestled a Lab to sleep.
The next night (yes, it continues), Rocky the sumo cat overate and vomited all over the dining room rug. Which my girl didn’t notice when she stepped in the sick, in her slippers, and tracked it all over the house. My boy did notice it when he stepped in it barefoot. Anyway, I spent about an hour cleaning up cat vomit. It’s amazing how much a 20-pound cat can spew.
So tonight I’m looking for quiet. No more late night drama would be great. Have you had any LND lately?
