Last night at approximately 3 a.m., I'd swathed my head with these puppies and was about fifteen seconds into this clip:
When three sleeping cats simultaneously popcorned three feet straight up then stared at the door. I doffed my headphones and ran to the door to stop the mad rapist or sullen murder who'd attempted to break it down and scared my cats. I put my eye to the peephole and saw a woman across the way sprawled out on the walkway. Tears streamed down her face. Between my peephole and her door stood a man of no small stature.
He loomed over her.
She mumbled language while he glowered. I stood behind my door voyeuring. Didn't know what to do. So I ran—in the way people with crippling chest congestion run, i.e. hilariously—back to the bedroom and woke the wife. We dashed back to the front door and peered through our peephole but they were gone.
At least she was.
I could feel him pacing on the landing between the first and second floors.
I'm not sure what happened. She could've been drunk and he could've been on the side of angels. That seems the likeliest scenario, given that there was no yelling after she hit the floor. (I don't know from before, what with the headphones and all.) I thought about going over there today and saying something about if they needed to move things at 3 a.m. I'm usually up and am more than happy to orchestrate other people lifting heavy objects.
Then I thought better of it. I'm really not sure what to do and/or what I should've done.
Cats can't taste heat. Nor does it have any effect on their digestion. How do I know?
Last night this little man ran off with some buffalo wings drenched in sriracha. He neither mewled like a cat in pain nor had any other issues later. From this I surmise cats' tongues can't tell from Scoville. Lard their food with capsaicin and they'll not mind a wit so long as there's lard in there. (Or so I hope. I don't want to clean that up. Would you?)