The Smoke Alarm Jump

Two alarms actually, the lower one next to the staircase, the upper one at the top of said staircase, with neither wall nor ceiling between them. At slightly different pitches. In a post-war, one and-a-half storey home.

Whatever possessed us?

Even after the noise ceased, poor little Savvy sat as if frozen to the couch cushion, shivering twice, pausing, shivering twice again. “Poor little tyke,” I soothed her. “Shiver shiver scree, shiver shiver scree, eh?”

And voila! An idea for a blog post. I may not be able to make a silk purse out of a sow’s ear, but even I’ve gotta admit that discovering music in a pair of electric banshees and a dog with satellite-dish ears is pretty resourceful.