(Version 1) Noisy Neighbours
By: Carmelo Bono
For a time as a student I was renting out a smaller apartment in what felt like it should have been a retirement community by the looks of it. A dormitory would be more fitting, if we are going to classify it. Along with all the classic rustic fittings that an apartment affordable for a student might include, of course-A noisy neighbour. In hindsight-it could have been worse.
A student needs many things in life, among the list an important one being sleep (when they can afford the time to do so). Sleep was that treat on a Saturday night when a students has finished maintaining a social life and caught up on enough work to justify going to bed before 11:30pm. My parents suggested a dog or a cat to help warm/liven the apartment up. I opted for a fish once, was pretty decent at maintaining it and prettying up the tank space. However, after a tragic from sink to toilet bowl spill-I decided the more humane thing to do was to not have an animal in my care.
Being a student and someone who generally doesn’t go out of their way to meet new people, I didn’t get to know my neighbours, at least not until it was too late. When I first moved into the place, I was often so occupied into the wee hours of morning (likely being the noisy neighbour), that I really didn’t notice any noise. I picked up a job for a few months on campus working at an after hours diner followed by a relationship that didn’t really warrant me to be at my own place all the time.
Months have gone by and I had been settling into a new routine, part time work in the afternoon-less work to complete for classes and a holiday. For the holiday, I had made the goal to do something special for myself, “I am going to get some, real sleep!” I had now been able to take care of what ever responsibilities to hit the sheets around 10pm (when I stayed up to watch a film). I really liked being able to get up before sun rise, go for a walkabout or run, still having time to enjoy the sunrise over coffee and eggs.
Once holiday began I buckled into the routine and sure it took a day or two to actually fall asleep early, often I would help the sleep along with headphones and just sort of sing myself to sleep, but eventually it worked out. I enjoyed that first night of real rest (no headphones, and no television) until
about 11pm when in the silence of rest, my eyes shot open. Tucked into bed, and now hearing the apartment fill with what was seemingly a drowned piano, I looked up. Wide-eyed, I turned over to check the time. I can remember being so angry and embarrassed at the same time. Thinking back to the times I may have likely been the noisy neighbour, I remained tucked in bed. The noise of the piano was short lived actually. I was surprised, and nestled myself back into the cove of the mattress. I closed my eyes and off I was dreaming about-dancing sugar plums? Ya.
I woke up at 5 AM as the alarm went off. Not the worst night of sleep after I woke up and eventually back asleep, but also not good enough for me to warrant fighting my eyelids for the sunrise. I’m not kidding anyone anyway, classes were on a hiatus due to holiday, there was nothing to do but develop a somewhat normal routine anyways.
I felt that same joy of that first night, being tucked in-ready to shut my eyes. Ready to sleep, real rest (no headphones, and no television) until about 11pm-again when in the silence of rest obstructed by the random gentle tinkling of keys from the apartment above, and then repeated again. For the next 30 minutes I lied in bed debating until I finally decided to put in my headphones and sing myself to sleep.
My eyes shot open, the sun was high beaming my bedroom window. I jumped out of bed, and continued on with my day. Late breakfast, workout, late lunch, socializing and then dinner. I got home a bit later than 10 PM but early enough that I could hit the sheets-except this time I sat my baseball bat beside the bed, I’m short, but the baseball bat gives me just enough length to use controllable force and gently tap the ceiling to alert my neighbours that its bloody late and I want to sleep.
Eyes widen, just as they were about to close 11:30 PM “What in goodness gracious!?” Tonight it was just banging on the keys and then a “THUD!” as though someone had picked up the stool and placed it back down on the bare floor. I jumped right on top of my sheets and began incessantly banging on the ceiling. Out of my frustration I banged the ceiling so hard I seemed to had cracked the plaster. I got down off my bed, cursed the room, the situation, the idea of sleep and ended up watching a television show. A while later the piano started again, “How can no one else be bothered by this!?” Looking at my watch, I ground my teeth when I realized it was already 3 AM. I stormed out the door and as my door slammed and cringed and cursed out of frustration.
Going up the stairwell to the next floor, I calculated which room (carefully) I had needed to knock on. When I knocked on the door I was more than a little alarmed. A bang, scrapping and smash of something glass seemed to echo into the hallway. I spoke up, “I am going to call the police.” Silence.
A neighbour across the hall opened the door, I turned around and got spooked a bit when I noticed them leaned in their doorway, “glad you did it, I was about to actually dial.”
I inquired with the older woman a bit, other than “strange middle-aged man who must be doing drugs.” I didn’t get much else to really help me along with understanding what was going on. A couple days later, I felt bad (and like I may have also painted a target on my back). I may have also really wanted to know what the deal was with this guy upstairs. I went by a diner, picked up two coffees and a couple doughnuts. I waited for the noise to begin. I went upstairs and knocked-"Thud", "Bang", and a pan or metal plate ringing as it had just fallen and spun out flat onto the floor.
I didn’t hear anyone scurry around or pick things up. I figured maybe the dude was on drugs and maybe my last visit spooked him a bit. Maybe he became paranoid and I might have just become someone who may have also just targeted someone with a mental illness. Now I really felt like garbage. I sat outside that apartment silently until eventually I fell asleep (20 minutes later).
It must not have been long after that when around 6 AM I got a steel toe nudge into my side. I cringed, squinted my eyes as the bright lights of the hallway were a bit much and looked up. I saw an average looking guy from that area, thick brown moustache, pony tailed brown hair, and “Ford Racing” over the chest of an aged black t-shirt. Blue jeans put the picture together when I realized this guy didn’t have a mental illness, nor was he drugs (at least not to the extent I had imagined in my mind). After I stood up looking into his face against the brightness of the hallway, he looked me in the eyes and sternly said, “if you don’t get the heck out of here now, I’ll call the cops.” I won’t lie at first I was ready to pee my pants a little, this guy had the drop on me.
I said, “Wait, man” and my voice trailed off as I looked and tried to gather my thoughts. I pointed at the coffees and doughnuts. “Oh! You need a place to squat-well let me help you get the heck out of here.” He grabbed me by the scruff of the neck, opened the stairwell and tossed the doughnut bag down along with my blanket.
Jaw-dropped, I stared, gawked and stuttered as I tried spill the words, “Yo, but.” I scrambled as I tried balancing the coffee holder he (rather gently considering the situation), shoved into my chest. His Hand on the back of my neck forcing me out the stairwell door, as I nearly tripped over my feet passing through the door, he slams it shut and very inappropriately told me where to go.
I was livid, confused and rattled. I looked back in through the window as he walked away, his back turned and he looked directly at me and pointed and began to fast pace back towards the door. The older woman saw me exchange a glance and that’s when she sneakily went back into her apartment. I wandered back downstairs.
At this point, I just collapsed on my couch, what a disaster. I didn’t even bother sifting through that over the top drama. I figured “I’ll deal with it later-future me problem. Right now, I just need sleep.” Dozing off, forgetting about everything really, my eyes begin to shut and then, “knock, knock”. I was instantly awake again, and this time I was a little too awake, I grabbed my baseball bat and looked through the peephole of the door. This is going to become a bit of a nightmare “What!? I’ll call the police, scram.” I grumpily grunted at the guy.
“Ugh, listen guy-I need to first say I am really sorry. I didn’t understand why you were outside my apartment, there has been some weird stuff happening lately and I think I finally figured it out.” he nervously confessed.
“Dude, I am not a psychologist or a rehab counsellor, get outta here.” I sternly demanded.
“Listen man, it was my cats, I can’t understand the coffee and doughnuts or you sleeping outside my door, but based on what the lady across from the hall said to me, ya. I need you to know it was my cats and I’m sorry.” Now, he clarifying this just made me a little be more upset.
“Man, you are at home, look after your bloody cats. Nor did you answer when I came around the first time.” I stated with disbelief.
“Man, look-I work nights alright, I can’t attest to what you experienced here while I was at work but I can tell you that I leave around 9-ish, I have a piano near and end table to two cats that mess up my apartment all the bloody time.” This guy either thought about dealing with whatever issues he has for a long time or this actually makes sense.
“Well, not that I completely believe you, but I got an extra cold coffee here that tastes about as bitter as I feel about this morning, how about you show me these cats.” The guy laughed at my request and also choked up a bit.
“Actually ya, sure. I got them here. I’m gonna be taking them to the shelter I guess, don’t really know what else to do with them to be honest.” I opened the door and looked at the guy waiting for further explanation. “My mother passed away recently, these two fur balls were generally the most interesting part of her days, most of her stories were about how much joy it brought her watching them go nuts around her house.”
Jokingly, “Well that explains a lot, she must have had one heck of a medicine cabinet-sorry just-those two felines sound like professional wrestlers through the floor. I gotta say though, animals like that can do far less damage if there was not a piano for them to free base from.” Turning to the guy seriously, I made an impulsive and irrational suggestion. “If you are taking them to shelter anyways, would it be absurd to suggest that I help you look after them at night? I mean, granted, you must have tried locking them up a night before and I wager that didn’t pan out too well?”
The guy’s response was surprisingly light and enthusiastic, “Are you sure, you’d be having these two ridiculous creatures running around though-isn’t that just making the noise worse for you? To answer your question though, before you agree and think you will just lock them up at night. They just moan and cry throughout the night, not only does it sound heartbreaking when you hear them but its also loud and constant.”
The guy and I worked out an arrangement in which he’d be willing to pack up/get whatever they need, and I’d essentially cat sit for him in the evenings. He confided that he was more nervous that’d I would report him for having pets (didn’t realize we weren’t allowed). However to avoid raising suspicion from other tenants I thought it worth mentioning my place wasn’t cluttered with belongings of an elderly woman.
Strangely enough, after sometime I noticed that the cats weren’t actually loud and energetic in the evening. If I were home and put on the television, they’d actually sit there curled up and then migrate to the bedroom with me.
It seems that their antics were how they dealt with the void of their original owner. Not that a person can ever replace a lost loved one, but support through a loss of that magnitude might be the answer to a lot of the internal troubles some face. Communication, whether it be from person to person or person to feline, is not just a manner of improving the quality of one’s life but potentially a key to unlocking a purpose to the crazy way things pan out.
Version 2 (aiming for publication in Chicken Noodle Soup for the Soul - Cat Lovers)
Noisy Neighbours
By: Carmelo Bono
I felt that childlike joy of being tucked in-ready to shut my eyes. Ready to sleep, rest-until 11pm-again when the silence was obstructed by the gentle tinkling of keys from the apartment above, and then repeated again. For the next 30 minutes I laid in bed, until I decided to put in my headphones and sing myself to sleep.
My eyes open, the sun was coming through the window. Late breakfast, workout, late lunch, socializing and then dinner. I got home around 10 PM, early enough that I could hit the sheets-except this time I sat my bat beside the bed, the bat gives me just enough length to use controllable force and gently tap the ceiling to alert neighbours that its late and I want sleep.
When I first moved into the place, I was often occupied into the wee hours of morning, that I really didn’t notice any noise. I picked up a job for a few months working an after hours diner followed by a relationship that didn’t really warrant me to be at my place as much.
The holiday began, it took a day or two to actually fall asleep early, often I would help the sleep along with headphones and just sort of sing myself to sleep, but eventually it worked out. I enjoyed that night of sleep, until about 11pm when in the silence of rest, my eyes shot open. In bed, and now hearing the apartment fill with what was seemingly a drowned piano, I looked up. Wide-eyed, I checked the time. I remember being so angry. The noise of the piano was short lived. I was surprised, and nestled myself back into bed.
Eyes widen, just about to close 11:30 PM. Tonight it was banging on the keys and then a “THUD!” I jumped up and began banging the ceiling. I banged the ceiling so hard I cracked the plaster. I got down off my bed, and ended up watching television. A while later the piano started again. Looking at my watch, it was 3 AM. I stormed out the door of the apartment.
Going up the stairwell, I knocked on the door. A “Bang!” scrapping and smash of something glass seemed to echo into the hallway. I barked, “I am going to call the police.” Silence.
A neighbour across the hall leaning in the doorway, spooked me a bit when I noticed them, “glad you did it, I was gonna dial.” I inquired with the lady, other than “strange middle-aged man who must be doing drugs.” I didn’t get much else.
A couple days later, I felt bad. I may have really wanted to know what the deal was with this guy. I picked up two coffees and doughnuts. Waited for the noise to begin, went upstairs and knocked-”Thud”, “Bang”, and a pan or metal plate ringing as it had just fallen and spun out flat onto the floor. I didn’t hear anyone pick things up. I figured maybe the dude was on drugs and maybe my last visit spooked him. Maybe he became paranoid and I might have just become someone who targeted someone with a mental illness. Now I really needed to know. I sat outside that apartment silently, eventually I fell asleep.
Around 6 AM I got jab to my side. I squinted, bright lights of the hallway were a bit much. I saw a guy matching the description from the elderly lady. After I stood up looking into his face against the brightness of the hallway, he looked me in the eyes and sternly said, “Get outta of here now, I’ll call the cops.”
“Wait-” and my voice trailed off. He grabbed me by the scruff of the neck, opened the stairwell and tossed the doughnut bag down.
I was livid, confused and rattled. I looked back in through the window as he walked away. At this point, I just went back to my couch. I didn’t even care. I figured right now, I just need. Dozing off, my eyes begin to shut and then, “knock, knock”. I grabbed my baseball bat and looked through the peephole of the door. “What!? I’ll call the police, scram.” I grunted.
“Listen guy-I’m sorry. I didn’t understand why you were outside my apartment, there has been some weird stuff happening lately and I think I finally figured it out.” he nervously confessed.
“I am not a psychologist or a rehab counsellor, get outta here.” I sternly demanded.
Almost apologetically he says, “Listen man, it was my cats, I can’t understand the coffee and doughnuts or you sleeping outside my door, but based on what the lady across the hall said, ya. I need you to know it was my cats and I’m sorry.”
“Its your home-look after your cats. Nor did you answer when I came around the first time.” I stated.
“Look-I work nights. I can’t attest to what you experienced here while I wasn’t, I have a piano near an end table that two cats knock stuff off every night.” He now sounded embarrassed.
“Well, not that I completely believe you, but I got an extra cold coffee here that tastes about as bitter as I feel about this morning, how about you show me these cats.” The guy laughed at my request.
“Actually ya, sure. I got them here. I’m gonna be taking them to the shelter-I guess, don’t know what else to do with them to be honest.” I opened the door and looked at the guy waiting for further explanation. “My mother passed away recently, these two fur balls were generally the most interesting part of her days, most of her stories were about how much joy it brought her watching them go nuts around her house.”
Jokingly, “Well that explains a lot, must have had one heck of a medicine cabinet-sorry-those two felines sound like professional wrestlers through the floor. Animals like that can do far less damage if there was not a piano for them to free base from.” Turning to the guy seriously, I made a suggestion. “If you are taking them to shelter anyways, would it be absurd to suggest that I help you look after them at night? I mean, granted, you must have tried locking them up a night before and I wager that didn’t pan out too well?”
The guy’s response was surprisingly light and enthusiastic, “Are you sure, these two ridiculous creatures running around though-isn’t that just making the noise worse for you? To answer your question though, before you agree and think you will just lock them up at night. They just moan and cry throughout the night, not only does it sound heartbreaking when you hear them but its loud and constant.”
The guy and I worked out an arrangement in which he’d be willing to pack up/get whatever they need. He confided that he was more nervous that’d I would report him for having pets (didn’t realize we weren’t allowed). However to avoid raising suspicion from other tenants I thought it worth mentioning my place wasn’t cluttered with belongings of an elderly woman.
