Well, another interesting night in Olde English Village......

My evening started out with meeting with a new RE agent, one I called on a whim and possibly a little good old fashioned superstition. Her name is Laurie Roberge. My mother's maiden name is Roberge. Possible relation? Neither of us knows, because her family hails from Sanford, and mine from Biddeford. That really doesn't mean much in the Big Picture..... because my great grandfather could've had a brother who relocated to Sanford. The superstition? Her extension is 22, my birthdate. So.... whim struck, and I called her.

She came over, and we spent more time talking about life, my cats, her cats and family history than we did about my prospective condo, but that was okay. Because if she's easy to get along with, I shouldn't have any problems working with her.

Right after she left, when I was fixing myself a dinner/snack of cheese, pepperoni and crackers..... the freaking fire alarm went off. I checked the hall. No sign of smoke. Went to get the carrier, just in case. Went to the window because I heard voices. Asked them if the building was on fire. They didn't think so...... no smoke coming from any part of the building.

But, the fire trucks came. So I went out into the hall and asked the nice policeman who came into the building whether I should catch my cats. He thought that would be wise...... so back into the apartment to catch the poor things.

Once again, Sunny was easy. Scoop her up, and into the carrier. Jester didn't force me to run around the center island again, but he did cause fits about getting in. Got him in, though..... but he escaped when I attempted to put Tubby in. Got Tubby in, and Sunny took a break for it, too. Okay...... picked Sunny back up again, and put her back with Tubby. Chase Jester again, and snag him, much to his displeasure. Nope, he is NOT going in the cage. [SIGH]

Fine.... be that way. Back to the closet to grab my duffel bag. Stuff Jester into duffel bag, shrug into backpack, throw shoulder strap of duffel over my shoulder (so it crosses my chest to avoid it falling off), grab the cat carrier and exit the apartment.

When I open the dividing door, I see one of the maintenance guys (the one who lives in this building), one of the tenants and a fireman, who appears to be reaming the tenant. Rick (from maintenance) says hello, so I ask him if I really need to continue outside. He says no, then looks at my duffel bag - which is doing the funky chicken, of course. I explained that there was one very unhappy cat in there who had refused to enter the carrier, so he ended up getting duffled.

While chatting with Rick, I overheard what the fireman was saying.

Seems we now know why the alarm has been going off. Remember that tenant who seemed to be getting reamed? Seems his kid likes to play in the hallway (against the rules of the complex), and he's discovered he can reach the fire alarm. He must think it's exciting to have the fire trucks come, or something.

Can't blame the fireman for reaming Daddy-O. Daddy-O's little darling is NOT among my best friends at this point. For that matter, neither is Daddy-O, because his breaking the rules has caused trauma to my cats, who despise getting stuffed into carriers and duffel bags.

Appears that OEV will be installing kid-proof gizmos over the alarms sometime soon. Peace will hopefully reign.

Copyright © Teri Lorrence
September 4, 2002