Yesterday evening I was on my way home from seeing The Diary of Anne Frank at the Round House Theatre in Bethesda (it was really good, by the way), when my phone rings. It's Carrie, telling me that the fire alarm is going off in our building, though there's no sign of smoke. The fire trucks have arrived and, after three trips in and out of the building, she can't get Colin out from under the bed. (He doesn't like loud noises.) The firemen don't seem too concerned; they're just sort of wandering in and out of the building. By the time I get home (maybe 5 minutes later), the alarms are off and the firemen told us we could go back into the building.
Colin finally emerges from the bed maybe 10 minutes later.
Well, this did kind of freak me out. I had a dream last night that I was at the Orioles opening day game, and for some reason I had brought Colin with me. (I also had really good seats; it wasn't at Camden Yards, though, but it was definitely the O's home opener--dreams, go fig.) And not in his carrier, either; I was just holding him. So he kept running off and I would periodically go and look for him. The whole thing was odd and stressful. (Plus, Brian wasn't batting leadoff; some guy whose name was vaguely familiar was. I was really upset about this.)
I guess the moral of the story is that now I'm freaked out about losing Colin. Poor kitty cat.
Current song in my head:
"This Love" by Maroon 5