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KA-BOOM

2:00 Sunday morning

I woke to a huge KA-BOOM! in the apartment. The dog in the apartment directly above us barked a few times, and Lacey barked more out of frustration that she was awoken than the possibility of burglars in her territory.

Miniature Schnauzer ≠ guard dog.

I sat up and listened for a bit. There was a commotion upstairs, and I assumed (oh so wrongly) that something in the upstairs apartment had fallen over. Something really big. Like their refrigerator. It seemed rational enough to my mind at 2am, so I tried to go back to sleep, when the dog upstairs started whining that horrid I-just-want-to-sleep-in-your-bed why-don't-you-love-me whine.

Lacey wanted to jump up and tell that dog,"Hey! There's this awesome warm water bed down here! Please don't cry!" But I shoved her under the blankets and kept my hand moving (somewhat) over her head.

When I dragged myself from my warm-n-comfy water bed, I found my mirror - my giant three foot square framed mirror - not hanging on the wall as I left it, but instead laying face down on the floor, unbroken. So that is what that big boom was. This large mirror that I love, the mirror that has been solidly connected to our wall for two years straight, jumped off the wall, hit a side table, and fell unconscious to the floor.

Not quite. I started to take the dog out for her morning elimination and was greeted in the hallway by some nice holes in the walls.

One hole on the wall across from our door was about 6 inches in diameter, the other was on our apartment wall and was about 18 inches in diameter.

Upon further inspection, there was a nice black stripe down the wall from the stairs. A stripe that strongly resembles a sneaker scuff mark.

Talking with the landlord confirmed our suspicions: a large man somehow fell over the stair banister, landing with his foot in one wall and his head in the other wall. In our wall, directly behind where our mirror hung. No wonder the mirror fell.

I am guessing that he was inebriated. Not many people would 'accidentally' fall over the banister from the second level and laugh about it, refusing medical care.

While he lay outside my door, his foot in one wall and his head in another, the front door lay wide open. Both of the upstairs apartments adamantly refuse that this man had been visiting them, and this morning I noticed a broken piece of a credit card lying on the floor by the front door.

Perhaps he broke in. Perhaps he was visiting someone upstairs who doesn't want to get themselves in trouble. Perhaps he was drinking. Perhaps he was pushed. We will never know because he didn't stick around long enough to give anyone his phone number.

At least this won't be happening every Sunday.
I hope.