7:30 am on a Sunday: across the street neighbors playing music so loud with bass so high it vibrates our bedroom windows
6:15, 6:52, 7:30, 8:45, 9:18 am on an off day: wild rooster
4:45 am on a Tuesday: popping sounds coming from living room which turns out to be Zeke eating the entire contents of the kitchen garbage can. The buffet line started in the kitchen, wrapped through the dinning room, and ended on the living room rug.
5:30 am on a Saturday: music and bass from neighbors again
7:15, 7:50, 8:05, 8:45 am on another off day: wild rooster
5:49 am on a Wednesday: 68 pound King jumps on top of me, in the bed thought to be too high for him to get up onto, because the windows were open, and it was windy outside, and it kinda sounded like running lawnmowers, and he freaked out.
Isn't it funny how when you wake up after dreaming about someone famous (whom you've never met) you want to call him up and start jabbering on about the best chai latte you've ever had, how Zeke does the cutest thing pushing open doors, isn't the North Shore amazing in winter, that Kerry would be one of the worst cabinet choices EVER, and asking if his first presidential mandate could be to cancel all 24 hour news networks.