The apartment's fire alarm started wailing around four-thirty Sunday morning. Such a piercing siren, it was impossible to ignore. Moving rather slowly (it was 4:30, after-all and we had been sleeping), my spouse and I dressed, grabbed the cat, and descended the stairs. We didn't know the apartment building had that many tenants, all looking disheveled (like us) in either the lobby or just outside the building. It looked like we were one of the last tenants to evacuate the twelve-story building. It was a cool morning (at least it wasn't raining!).
Samantha (the cat) was not happy, but she behaved. She doesn't like noise, she doesn't like strangers, and she doesn't like being carried, but she must have realized that something was wrong. As the other tenants noticed her, cradled in my better half's arms, she sure received lots of smiles.
The police and fire department arrived. Entering the building, they quickly determined that there was no fire. So we joined the long line of tenants ascending the stairs, climbed to our floor (thankfully, we're not in the top floors), and gave Samantha several treats for behaving so well.
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