Hell of a way to wake up
Now where I live - the next street along in fact - there was a prowler not long ago. He'd get into women's houses, seemingly after keeping watch for a while to work out that the women lived alone, establish their routines, work out which lights went off last and so where their bedrooms were. One woman was attacked in her bed, others elsewhere in the house. The man has not been caught.

I don't know about any other live alone girlies, but I find it quite easy, at times, to panic overwhelmingly. Hell, as a kid, I managed to persuade myself that my asthma attacks were actually Darth Vader in my bedroom, and to this day I can't sleep without covers over me in case he 'gets me'.

And so to the being scared bit. I'm in bed, that nice mid way to being awake thing where you're sort of dreaming but kind of awake too. And I hear movement downstairs. A bang. A door slam open and hit the wall. A creak on the stairs. By now I am wide awake, startled into cortisol pumping alertness, bolt upright and terrifed for my life. I fumble my phone onto the floor, but manage to get hold of a wooden box that sits on my bedside table, thinking maybe I'll bash the guy with it. Then footsteps bound up the stairs, thundering towards me. My bedroom door opens... and keeps opening, but no-one comes through it. The steps get closer...and then bound past the bed and up, up onto the windowsill. The windowsill?

In my sleepiness, I had quite forgotten about my two giant lolloping boy cats, who in my mind are still the tiny lightweight kittens they once were. Their fights are full of energetic sibling rivalry and take place all over the house. From gut lurching terror to face burning embarrasment in .3 of a second.
(ancrenne is possibly the proudest b3tan alive, Thu 22 Feb 2007, 16:13, closed)