Serial Killer

I am not one of those people who get freaked out having to be home alone (aside from the kids) at night.  I've had lots of friends who are like that and it's just not something I really understand.  And it's good that I'm not like that since my husband works nights.  5 nights a week, I'm alone.  No big deal.

Usually.

I remember one night I was reading a Stephen King book.  The title escapes me, but it's the one where the woman who gets trapped handcuffed to a bed.  I got to this one part and got so scared I slammed the book shut and threw it across the couch.  I was freaked out to be home alone that night. 

So, tonight is just a quiet night here at the house.  Me alone.  The girls are asleep.  Watched a bizarre movie that I didn't get.  Just kind of in my own little head trying to decide what to do until Bill gets home or I go to bed.  I opened the carport door and we have a porch swing right outside the door.  And it was swinging like mad.  It wasn't windy or anything, that thing was just swinging by itself.  I slammed that door like I was in a horror flick and ran to the farthest room in the house.

I thought I was going to die.

After a few minutes of trying to reason with myself, I decided that I knew what had set the swing off and I should at least go check it out.

Yeah, I'm that stupid person that dies first in the horror movies because they have to go check things out.

(Don't worry, I obviously didn't get murdered... in case you were getting concerned)

I turned on the outside light and eased the door open.  And I was right about what caused my heart attack (my reasonable guess, not the serial killer first conclusion).



Please excuse my messy carport... the girls were out there playing earlier today. 

This cat has been hanging around for a few weeks.  And it's not the first time she has scared me.  I actually don't know if it's a boy or girl, but for simplicity's sake, it's a girl.  She likes to chill out on the car booster seat at night.  She likes me.  When I convinced myself that Michael Myers was not about to jump out at me, I opened the door and stepped out.  The kitty came up and rubbed against my legs.  She has no collar, but she's fat and fairly clean, so someone takes care of her probably. 

As much as I would love to have a cat, the landlady would have a stroke, so I'll just have to enjoy the Carport Kitty when she's not scaring the bejeezus out of me.  I even gave her a name. 

Serial Killer. 

That way I won't feel so silly the next time I think a serial killer is outside.  She probably will be.