Going bump in the night

I'm in a new house and am still getting used to the regular noises. The sighs, creaks and moans when it settles. That one spot on the floor that always squeaks. The door that whistles when the wind blows. The chimney cap that bangs with a slight breeze.... And the various other sounds hat go on in a house.

Normally when I hear a sound, clang, or crash, I know exactly what caused it. A small furry, black and white mischief maker. Sharp sounds. Something falling over. Something being pushed off a surface. You know those sounds. Scampering across the floor above. Then a crash.

The other night I awoke to a sound downstairs which was a "sharp" sound. And in my sleepy head, I wondered what was busted now. And then there was another one. Slightly grumbling about the cat as I tried to focus on the clock, I discovered her curled up on the pillow next to me. Sleeping blissfully while noises continued downstairs.

Hell. That's not good. Now there are a few different options at this point. Call the cops and say I thought I saw a prowler at the neighbors, thereby getting them out here and not sounding like a chicken. Grab a kitchen knife and go downstairs to check it out (thus fulfilling the horror flick standard guaranteeing I get killed). Or what I did, ignore it and go back to sleep secure in knowing my special security system will take care of any unwanted intruder.

They have to get through the obstacle course first of yarn my cat unraveled and strung throughout the house like a laser grid before she came to bed. Dodge spinning wheels that will take out any one's unsuspecting kneecaps. At this point, they may trip and fall, grabbing at any available surface to check their fall. This will most likely impale their self on any number of DPNs, aluminum needles, scissors, or drop spindles.

Now, If there was someone really downstairs, I would be hearing swearing at this point. I don't care who you are, a Double Pointed Needle through the palm will make you swear like a sailor. At that point I can call the cops or listen to them leaving in a huff of frustration and pain.

In the morning daylight with coffee in hand, I inspect the downstairs to see what my over-active imagination took to be the night-stalker. All the yarn, WIPs, wheels and such were in there normal places, untouched. I found no bloody DPNs or a dragged drop spindle covered in blood leaving the scene. No intruder after all. Just a trash can that got picked up and blown around the lower deck before being lifted over the railing and pitched down the hill be the wind.

Still, I'm sure my security system would work and I'm safe. Besides, I have sharp pointy sticks next to my bed, just in case.