Slamming Doors & The Threat of High-Climbing Murdering Rapists Who Strike in the Afternoon on Breezy Days

Now that I live alone sans cats and other humans, I’m pretty sure I’m going to be raped & murdered on a daily basis. At least for about 15 seconds a day until my logical brain kicks in, but still those 15 seconds are pretty scary and cause many a heightened pulse rate and much heart palpitations.

See, the problem is that not only did Paco die leaving me to live alone, but I also moved around all the books on my bedroom floor right around when he died.

My bedroom floor is littered with books, mostly all the ones I started and abandoned over the past two(ish) years. There are some finishers in there, even some keepers. But mostly the books that make up the two dusty, three-foot tall piles on my bedroom floor are books that I will never finish.

For the better part of two years this stack of books lived in a sloppy, toppled-over heap right in front of my bedroom door, pinning the door open for all time. I’m not kidding when I say it’s been a long time, if I were a better blogger I’d march right upstairs and take a picture of the patch of carpet where the books used to be — a rectangular island of cleanliness surrounded by an ocean of dusty cat-haired carpet detritus. But I am a bad blogger, so you’ll have to take my word for it.

One night, shortly after Paco died, I had to lock Walter in my room with me for the night. It was so he would act like a big, barking jerk who was gonna eat the Culligan man’s face. The Culligan man comes over every other month to deliver & install a thing to make sure I have soft water. He usually comes and does this at ungodly o’clock in the morning, and thus the reason Walter had to sleep with me.

Walter used to sleep with me all the time when I he stayed with me, but he stopped doing that in December. Now he’ll only sleep with me if there is another human in the house. I’m not sure if he’s afraid they’ll kidnap me or dognap him. Dogs are weird. I wasn’t too terribly sad that Walter stopped sleeping with me because his superpower is gaining 900 pounds in his sleep and being unmovable. He also has a knack for sleeping in the exact spot I want to put my butt/feet/arms.

So yeah, I moved the books so I could close the door so Walter wouldn’t eat the Culligan man’s face. No big deal.

Only about once a week it is a big deal. Because now that the door can move freely it frequently slams shut because all the windows in the house are open and it occasionally gets breezy in this joint. Breezy enough that it can move bedroom doors upstairs.

Whenever the door slams shut my brain goes through this series of thoughts quick like a bunny — while my heart races and I search for my phone.

1.) Paco is dead so there’s no way he made that noise.
2.) There’s a murdering rapist who has snuck in through the upstairs window and is creeping downstairs to rape and murder me.
3.) I have ghosts either human or animal and they are making a ruckus.
4.) Oh, the window blew my bedroom door shut because I moved those books.

It’s like the perfume thing all over again.

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