We live in a townhouse. It's far from grandiose, but it does have three floors. The lowest is unfinished, but I have been practising the fiddle down there: mainly because it's cooler in hot weather but also because I fantasize that the local dogs won't hear me and commence a neighbourhood pack howl. As it is, the cat's litter box is down there, and most than once he has come down to use it (in a most foul and malodorous way) when I am playing. I have a hunch that it's his way of demonstrating what he thinks of my efforts. Do they still make the strings out of cat gut, I wonder?
As many of you know I tend to wander at night (stick with me here — it's relevant). Though not as much now that I have cottoned on to it a bit, I have been known to head to the depths to go over my linedance steps at two o'clock in the morning; it's something to distract my brain when my eyes will no longer focus to blog or read but when I must do something to relieve my stress and, perhaps eventually, be able to get a wink or two of sleep. So ... the other night (do you begin to see where I'm going with this?), I went down at midnight to fiddle around as it were. I reasoned that I would bother no one because "Cuppa is two floors up and sleeps soundly."
Of course, I reasoned wrongly. Apparently, violin sound carries extremely well, even up two floors. Whodathunkit? I guess what really took the cake as far as Cuppa was concerned was the fact that when I was eventually done (at almost 1:00 a.m.) I came upstairs whistling merrily and loudly. You see, by then I had rather forgotten that it was the middle of the night and that normal people were trying to sleep.
The new rule is that I am to get all fiddling out of system by midnight and, even then, I must refrain from being an exuberant whistler when I come back upstairs.
(PS: Lightning must have struck for Cuppa has already blogged her version of this event . But I had this up in draft first — really! — and refuse to permit a completed blog to go unpublished.)