So, last night (or this morning, depending on one's perspective) around 4:30am, while I'm suffering from another bout of insomnia, I'm sitting in my chaise blogging (what else?), and all of a sudden the entire house starts shaking. And not just a little, either. A lot. Actually, more than shaking, it feels like it's swinging from side to side, and possibly fixing to collapse.
The cats look at me like, "WTF?" And I look back at them like, "WTF?"
It was, if I'm honest, sort of terrifying.
It woke Iain up. "That was an earfquake!" he exclaimed.
"What? We don't get earthquakes in Indiana!"
"Soometimes Scootland goot earfquakes, because oof shifting plates oot inny sea. And that was an earfquake. Noot a wee oone, eiver."
Still averse to the idea that northwest Indiana gets earthquakes—no, no; we get tornados and enormous fuckpiles of snow—I said, "Maybe there was an explosion at the mill."
"Maybe it was an earfquake."
"Maybe someone stopped pushing the button." (Lost reference.)
Iain laughed. "Earfquake."
"Whatever it was, it was scary."
"Coome oon, feardy-cat. Let's goo tae bed."
It was an earthquake. And not a wee one, either.
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