I am not easily spooked, unless you start talking about aliens. Not just the movie, but the species of creature. Since I rarely see an alien around town, unless I am pulling out of my neighborhood, I'm not usually easily spooked. In fact, I used to run well after dark when I was single. Well, having a kid has changed all of that for me. All of the sudden I realize that my life is not my own and I am a bit more cautious. Apparently, I am getting extreme with my caution.
Eric was out last evening at church for "band" practice. I had put the tyke to bed and was enjoying the first Grey's Anatomy in a really long time. Emory has been taking a long time to go to sleep recently, and she is usually quite loud in her play. She never gets fussy, so we just ignore it and after about an hour we realize we haven't heard her in a while. So, I had the TV up so I could hear it above the shrieks and giggles coming from the back of the house.
About 8:30 I sense that she has settled down and I really begin to enjoy my solitude. That's when it started. There was this banging sound. At first I thought it had just been a false alarm, Emory was still awake and now attempting to pull her coat rack off the wall (she's done it before!). Then I realized that the sound was not coming from the back of the house but the front and that the dogs were going beserk.
I have quite an active imagination, which is a blessing and a curse. I immediately begin to imagine some psycho is outside, trying to get into my house. I was so freaked out that I also got the "weapon" from it's safe place to keep by my side just in case. Not knowing what else to do, I called Eric to ask him what I should do. Like any good husband, he fussed at me for calling him and told me to call the police if I was sure I was hearing something outside.
At least I called the dispatch and not 911. Once the officer arrived and had checked the perimeter he came to the door and asked, "Ma'am, do you have any cats?" Then it dawned on me what I had heard. Cats in the dumpster.