The pitter-pat of little feet

I met one of my new upstairs neighbors the other day. It's no accident that they're super-quiet. They're just really considerate people who understand what it is to have someone stomping about over their head.

And, sadly, they're experiencing that right now with their new upstairs neighbors. A couple of kids -- women, as it turns out, thus proving my theory, ipso-facto -- who like to come in at 4 in the morning and stomp around.

The one thing I do hear now and again is the sound of fleet little paws scuttling overhead. Cats! I recognized the sound instantly and was right. There are two of them. I don't mind it at all. Dogs would be much, much worse. And it kinda makes me smile to hear them run around. It's like having cats of my own, without the smell and the fur. And the little granules of litter stuck to the bottom of your feet.

Now if I can just get the assholes in the laundry room to shut the hell up ...