Why I hate being alone in the house...

This morning I had the scare of my life...

As you may recall, DH and I had our house broken into (through the basement) earlier this year. This led to us activating the house alarm system, among other things, and probably made me more wary of every unfamiliar noise in the house.

I was in the kitchen making my morning coffee this morning when I thought I heard steps on the basement stairs (they're wooden and creaky). Since DH's father (who stays with us during the week) had already left for work, I totally freaked out... watching the doorknob to see if someone tried to turn it, thinking that someone had broken into the basement again and was trying to get upstairs. Then I realized that the alarm was on, and there are motion sensors in the basement that set it off. Since the alarm didn't go off, I tried to reason with myself that it must have been the cat on the stairs (Eliza - the cat - ran upstairs as soon as I came down, and she usually makes a tremendous amount of noise when she goes up/down the stairs.) But I was still freaking out... so I got all the stuff that I needed for work together very noisely and ran into the garage and drove away.

My heart was totally racing, I was so scared. There was no way in heck I was going to open the basement door to check it out... no way.

I did see Eliza on a dining room chair right before I left, so it was very likely her... but jeebus was I scared to death. I had to yoga breath on the train ride to get my heart rate down from heart attack speed.

Update! I got home first this evening, and the first thing that I did was go out into the backyard to see if any windows had been broken (they hadn't). Then I checked around the living room to see if any obvious stuff (the Wii) had been moved/stolen (nothing was), then I went to the basement to look around (all was the same as I left it). So I was afraid of a whole lotta nothing. Which is fine.