If you can't stand the heat ...

My sleep was broken at precisely 4:15 am by the staccato ring of my telephone.
“… mmm Yes?”
“You’re not going to like this, but the fire alarm’s going off in the main kitchen …”
“Great. Yeh, that’s great, perfect, thanks …” What is this conspiracy?
I get dressed and cast a bleary look into the mirror before grabbing my car keys. I can just make out the sirens coming from down the street. Just great.

The main kitchen is vibrating from the klaxon’s belches. As regular as a heart beat the sirens pound out their call: “WAKE … UUUUUP … WAKE … UUUUUP … youregonna BUUUUUURN …. youregonnaBUUUUUURN …” The building is empty except for the security team from the main gate and some chattering students from the student bar passing by outside - a swirling cloud of girlishness as loud and bright as a gaudy funfair on a sunny summer afternoon in Nantucket. God bless ‘em …

The darkness inside the kitchen swirls and vibrates with red lights, the belch of hydraulic brakes, diesel fuel, and the clatter of men and machine as the fire trucks arrive. Within minutes the place becomes a pumping mass of testosterone as firemen and police mingle about, writing notes, chattering into walkie talkies, checking the air ducts, doors, moving through a fine white powder on the floor leaving behind footprints as clear as on any dance school floor. Then as suddenly as it began the sirens end, the testosterone slowly ebbs away, the carnival midway of candy floss and cracker jack retreats into the night.

"Looks like one of your fire extinguishers self activated in your hood here ... should get that replaced in the morning." I am handed a pink copy from a clipboard and then I am once again alone in the silent, depth of the night. I make a final round, lock the door behind me and drive home. I drink a glass of milk, sitting back gratefully in my own kitchen. Kitten purrs with joy to see me back, stained and warm from her nightly prowl. She jumps up onto my lap and purrs gently as I run my fingers through her thick black hair. Her eyes consider me for a minute before she jumps down, stretches her back and jumps daintily onto the couch.

“You’re such a parody kitten.” She smiles, if cats can smile. I undress again and crawl back into bed, turn off the light and fall asleep. - Katrin.