Slow Ride...
My lunatic neighbor upstairs has been relativley quiet for several months. New roommates come and go and they too have been relatively quiet.
Seems they all, actually all three apartments, when newbies move in, need a lesson in music: volume levels, best time of day to rattle the rafters, so forth.
As a vintage but savage woman, I feel inclined to provide necessary rules and regulations, and to educate the younger generation on the best tunes ever.
Case in point...it appears a new guy moved in upstairs. I was ready to focus today. Laundry was dealt with last night on the way home from work, meaning I didn't arrive home until after nine.
Said new guy cranks music louder than EVER before. (This is how you know he's new.) Generally, we learn one another's schedules and abide accordingly by unspoken rules. I usually crank my music in the middle of the day, when everyone else is working. Today? Well, I know he's upstairs today, whoever he is.
After Maggie Rose has multiple panic attacks, was medicated, and continued to shake, well, it's time for payback.
I have a speaker that can be particularly annoying, even on low volume.
Let’s play.
My music taste run the gamut, no joke. The gentleman upstairs is now listening to some of the best hard rock, folk, country rock, metal, bluegrass, all 80's hair bands, country, but none, absolutely NO piano, Bach, Yo Yo Ma - nothing that could be construed as remotely soothing or peaceful. All of this curtesy of yours truly.
Every. Throbbing. Beat.
Bass cranked high, high as Willie and Snoop.
You are welcome young man.
Years ago a brother-in-law who shall remain nameless told me to make 'em think I'm crazy, referring to my kids, I just about had them raised. Ask any of my kids and they will tell you, I was an amazing success. They believe.
A lady member of my family often accused me of being a pushover.
Whatever.
So, I now let transient neighbors think I’m probably not one to mess around with.
It’s safer this way.
Surprisingly Maggie Rose is now relaxed. She likes our music too, every dang genre.
Malcom on the other hand, came downstairs. He apparently has an opinion.
He’s sitting on the railing at my door giving me the death stare.
Judgemental feline.
I gave him a treat.
He left happy.
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