I heard a loud noise from downstairs a little while ago. Both cats are upstairs, and it was a loud, metallic crash, so I thought it was something in the laundry room. That’s a small room off the kitchen and the only way you can get to it is through the kitchen. The only way to get to the kitchen is to be inside my condo. I thought something might have fallen off a shelf, but—you never know. So I went to my room and got my handgun from my nighttable and went downstairs to see.
You know, before I had guns, if I heard a noise like that, my adrenaline would be pumping and my heart would be thumping as I crept downstairs with a baseball bat in one hand and the phone in the other. I used to think it was the good kind of adrenaline, but now I’m thinking not so much, because I was calm, cool, and collected while I checked the great room, the guest bedroom, and finally, the laundry room.
What a difference a gun makes.
It was a travel coffee mug that had fallen off the shelf, onto the dryer (which was running), and into the laundry basket.
My condo is now safe from flying coffee mugs.
Nah, I didn’t shoot it. I put it back on the shelf where it belongs.