Living in a Shotgun Shack

Many years ago my ex-husband made the quirky observation: “You are like a mother alligator.” Mother alligators, like all mothers, are highly attuned to their young. Upon hearing any sound of distress, and the baby alligator has quite a distinctive voice, the mother will defy all belief regarding speed and agility by launching itself to defend its offspring.

In the dark of night, when either the kid or the cat would make the slightest disconcerting noise, I would bolt out of bed regardless of how deeply I was sleeping. Or..frankly..how comfortably I was lazing during the daytime.

Last night, I heard a strange gulping, whiny, burping noises in my heater, and I launched myself immediately out of bed to investigate. This noise happens with great frequency. It happens to the  heater, the pipes, the foundation, the roof. My response is part of my newly developed house-pochondria. My home is a source of constant worry and stress; I fear for its state of mind and physical health.

And so, my house is my baby alligator.

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