Chirky

Roger and I can't wait to move into our own home, mainly because then we can watch movies at an intensity of volume that can best be described by the instant perforation of our eardrums.

Until that time, I must inform you that the abundance of sound coming through the walls is quite appalling. Last night as I worked on my computer, I could hear the thump-thump-thumping of my downstairs neighbor listening to AB Quintanilla y Los Kumbia Kings, which really, I must say, is better than the constant "Szzwwwoooorrr!!" "Szzzaaaawwaappp!" "Szzzwwwinnggg!" of the RPG video games those overgrown college boys used to play AT ALL HOURS OF THE NIGHT. And! This morning while standing in my closet, I heard my next-door neighbor cough. Sometimes I can even smell the smoke from my neighbors permeating through the walls into my laundry room. And that's just gross, don't you think?

However, none of these issues have ever bothered me enough to file a formal complaint, until now. For the past several months, I have become increasingly convinced that some neighbors have moved in illegally, are not paying rent, and are terrorizing unsuspecting residents, like me. You see, I've been hearing these noises. Noises that patently remind me of what I imagine it would sound like if an electrician had snuck into our apartment and began rearranging the wiring.

Sounds that, when I hear them, cause my entire body to freeze in a lame attempt to sharpen my hearing - I don't allow myself to breathe or move, fearing that the slightest bat of an eyelash would set into motion a series of broken covalent bonds that might cause the air I breathe to transform into chloroform and leave me passed out on the floor of the study, unable to vigilantly listen to the noises. But, at least in that case I would be laying very, very still. Or, immobile - whatever way you want to interpret it.

And so I sit, motionless, looking at the floor beneath me and the walls and ceiling, ready for the inevitable explosion of buckling paint and collapsed beams to take my life like a horribly cheesy scene from Friday the 13th, where that girl is drinking a beer and hears a noise and sticks her head out the cabin window and that guy in the hockey mask twists her head off her body and all you see is her beer spilling onto the sticks and mud beneath the windowsill. For that reason alone I cannot drink beer in the woods.

And then I hear it again, scratching. Scratching like a dog's paw on the patio door because it wants to come inside and eat the human food. I tiptoe over to the wall closest to the noise, wait silently, AND THEN BEAT THE WALL. Just to show my new neighbors who's the boss. I'm the alpha here, baby. You just remember that.

So, this morning Roger woke up early and went into the office, quietly tiptoeing around our home and then slipping out the door. My alarm clock wasn't set, because that's what I have Roger for. Except he was gone this morning. And I nearly overslept, you know, because my alarm clock left the house early today. But! I didn't oversleep. I didn't. And do you want to know why?

BECAUSE I WOKE UP TO THE SOUND OF MY 20-POUND NEIGHBORS GALLOPING ABOVE MY HEAD, IN THE ATTIC.

It was quite disturbing, really, as you might imagine it would be if you were heating your Lean Cuisine frozen meal in the leasing office kitchen and returned after the ding ONLY TO FIND A RAT, PERCHED ATOP THE PLASTIC COVER, WITH ITS NOSE STUCK THROUGH THE SLIT AND RUMMAGING AROUND IN YOUR SPAGHETTI SAUCE.

So, if I capture these new neighbors before you do, at least YOU will know what to expect.

Happy hunting,
Jes

P.S. My husband thinks cute, bushy-tailed squirrels have made the attic their home.
I. DON'T.