After many (3) comments on my fierce attack of David, I feel the need to clarify. I was/am not mad. More amused in a loud sighing kind of way. No, if he ever reads this he won't think I'm a horrible person. Right? Friend?
Now, back to our regularly scheduled programming.
I'm in a full-on lounge position in the tv room - lying down, half twisted, legs tangled, watching Spaced. Other Cat jumps up, immediately flops onto his back and nestles up against my chest. Over the course of the next hour (yes, I watched a full season of Spaced in one sitting. DON'T JUDGE ME!) he keeps wriggling up closer and closer to my head, until his ears are pushed up under my chin and his front paws are wrapped around my neck. I'm lying there, wondering how it could ever get any cuter, and then Pickle jumps up, curls up on my shoulder, places her cheek gently against mine, drapes her paws across my face, and starts licking Other Cat's nose. I nearly die of Cute Overload.
It is the perfect pet moment. Until it goes horribly wrong. Other Cat wakes up and bats at Pickle, who bats back in return. This is all fun and games for cats, but is a scary and dangerous situation for the human with soft gelatinous eye balls and a veiny exposed neck. Pickle picks this time to turn on the drool machine and I'm suddenly in a very moist and sharp environment that make me feel rather vulnerable. Which reminds me that I've been meaning to mention monsters.
See, this house is lovely. Lots of big windows, lots of rooms, hardwood floors. Lovely. During the day. At night all of these selling points turn against it, transforming the home into a creaky fortress of doom. It happens as dusk turns to dark, at the precise moment when you look out the window and can't see a bloody thing. When you look out the window and your brain immediately reminds you of all the horror movie scenes when an unwelcome face is looking back at you. The Scream mask comes to mind. And look what I just did. Did you see that? I checked behind me. I can't not look. I think of the killer in Scream with his stupid Halloween mask popping up in a darkened window and I have to look behind me to make sure he's not there.
That darkness turns my hearing on max, because all of a sudden things I've never noticed before are ringing out like bells. Evil, scary bells. Creeks, thumps, whispery sighs. A doorknob twisting. They come from all over. Upstairs. Downstairs. In the kitchen. In the bathroom. Where ever I'm not. And I find myself cowering in the tv room, determinedly not going to bed because that would mean passing by the unlocked door to the basement and walking towards the front door with glass panels on either side where potential killers are lurking, then the staircase with the light switch I can't find, to the upstairs landing with four rooms that need checking before I can go to bed - see, there, I just had to look behind me again.
I haven't felt this way since I used to babysit, and back then I thought it was normal seeing as how I was a) in a strange house, b) addicted to horror films, and c) a kid. But this house isn't strange anymore, I don't often torture myself with questionable cinematic choices, and, most importantly, I'm a bloody adult! I'M 30 YEARS OLD AND I'M AFRAID OF MONSTERS.
This has certainly been a fun self discovery. Thanks David!
I've been thinking about why being alone in this house is scarier than, say, any apartment I've had since I was 19, or my mom's house, or sister's apartment. And I have a theory. My last apartment was a typical one bedroom. On the occasional evening when I would freak myself out I could easily check the place for monsters. I would first check that there were none on the fire escape accessed through the kitchen, then lock that door. Backtrack to the living room and confirm that the front door was also secure. From here I checked behind the couch, then the bathroom (including the shower), a quick sweep of the kitchen, then my bedroom (both closets). And voila! I confirmed a no-monster zone.
See, you need to be able to do a full sweep of the dwelling in question with the amount of people on hand. Alone in this house the monsters could easily evade me. They could sneak by while I inspected one room and hide somewhere I've already cleared. There's no securing this house on my own. If I had someone else I think we could do it. One person would stand guard by the front door, being able to keep the hall to the back of the house and the stairs to the upper level secure, while the other patrolled the basement, then the main level, then the top floor. Two would work nicely.
Unless you have reason to suspect that your partner is in on the monsters. Then you're screwed.
Once you think someone's in league with the monsters, there are two ways the situation will play out. In the first, they are either in with the monsters OR a monster in disguise, and you are clearly over powered and will be tortured and killed shortly. In the second (and more likely) scenario, they aren't a monster. You know how you can tell? Because MONSTERS DON'T EXIST. So the whole thing about monsters to begin with, and your friend or partner or whoever being a monster, is rubbish. But now you've got the idea in your head and it won't leave. So you're scared but you can't admit it because then they'll know how psycho you really are, won't they? But by suppressing it you're keeping alive this faint possibility that they ARE a monster. And if you mention it, just for a laugh, to get it out there so you can realize how crazy it is and get on with your life - if you do this and it turns out that they ARE a monster, well, they're going to have to kill you right there and then for figuring it out.
Like the time I knew, I KNEW, my mom was a werewolf.
How am I single?