Wednesday, November 19, 2003

I was in my jammies and headed for the bathroom to brush my teeth when the piercing tones of the smoke alarm sounded. It was 10:14pm. Annie was under the bed, but zoomed out and ran for the front door, trying to get away from the sound. I quickly changes into a pair of pants, slipped on some shoes, grabbed my cell phone and purse, snagged my jacket and keys, hooked Annie up to her leash and headed out the door.

Outside the alarm was more piercing, more painful. I knew that Annie had to be in agony, so we ran down the stairs - I was headed for the blessed sound-proof interior of my car. We were on the sidewalk in front of the building when this voice came from above, “They’ve been going off all day.”

I looked up to see two 20-something guys on their balcony, smoking.

“What? All day?” I was horrified at the auditory torture Annie must have endured while I was at work.

“Fire Department was here all afternoon, playing with the alarms. It’s rather annoying.”

“Yeah, no kidding,” I replied. And at that moment the alarm went silent.

Once back in the apartment, I realized that the hand towels that were strewn about my room must have been Annie’s way of displaying her displeasure at the noise. They had been nicely folded in my laundry basket on the floor, which she never disturbs. I couldn’t imagine why she pulled the towels out when I got home. Crazy.