Funny how something so small can create such a loud, obnoxious noise...
...I suppose the same thing can be said about children. (ba-doom, tish!)
Yesterday, this little gadget created absolute bedlam in our home. V was upstairs tinkering with one of his projects, I was downstairs making iced coffee... and suddenly our fire alarms went off. V shouted that it's ok, he caused it and there was no fire - so I continued with my coffee-making, assuming he'd take care of the alarm.
Both the upstairs and downstairs alarms are tied to one another. So when one goes off, they both do - and in this house, it is very echoey... which makes it all the louder. At first, it was easy to just brush off the beeping because I knew it would all be over soon.
But the alarm continued...
... and continued...
... and c o n t i n u e d...
all the while, V was upstairs wrestling with the alarm. When he couldn't silence the upstairs alarm, he came downstairs to try his luck with the downstairs one. These things might have well been super glued together because try as he might, he could not get the darn thing to open up and/or shut up.
Repetition of any sort of noise really bothers me. Whistling really gets under my skin too. Maybe it's the high-pitched sound that sends my brain into a fit, but the combination of the high-pitched alarm, and the never ceasing beep of it, started to make me exceedingly anxious. I set down my coffee after only one sip.
The noise was becoming too much for me, and my thoughts turned to Bilbo, who, wearing his cone collar, I noticed is now trying to force his way out of a 2" gap in the sliding door that we left open for air flow.
It was hilarious to watch, but obviously he was very distressed.
I hurried over to pick him up and shut him in the downstairs bathroom (which has the laundry room and two doors to muffle the alarm) where I thought he'd be less "freaky-outy" (yes, I invent words). As soon as I picked him up, he was fine - but then when I took an arm away from him to open the door, he began freaking out. Struggling. Clawing. The maniacal frenzy of a cat who knows he's about to die...
I'm trying to hold on to him, so I can put him in the bathroom, the alarm is going off, V is shouting at the alarm in frustration, the cat is yowling...
Finally, I get the cat into the bathroom and close both doors and realize I'm bleeding.
At this point, the alarm is making me frantic, plus the adrenaline of trying to contain my kitty, and I turn my frustrations to the alarm. I ran over to the fire alarm and hopped up on the chair - covered the hole that was emitting the squawking, beeping, horribleness enough to gain my wits back - then tried to follow the instructions on the face of the alarm, "Twist and slide"
I twisted and slid with all my might to no avail. To do this though, I needed both hands, which meant that the alarm was now screaming directly into my face with all its power and thus bringing my anxiety to a whole new level.
It is here, where I tell you friends, that I do not remember what happened next, only that when my memory begins again, I'm standing on the floor (safely), out of breath, heart racing, and the fire alarm is in pieces hanging from the ceiling.
It was quiet.
After a few minutes to calm down, I went back to my coffee, let the cat out, and took a few deep breaths.
I couldn't believe that the alarm, and not being able to shut it off freaked me out so much! I am glad though that we got it stopped and that this particular alarm wasn't the type to call the guards and the fire brigade to come add stress to the moment... although I bet they'd have been able to shut the alarm off without destroying it.
At any rate, peace and calm has returned to the household again, and now I sport some lovely gashes on my neck, stomach and arm... the perfect addition to my outfit for my niece's Christening on Sunday!