Mystery Alarm, Part 1

To begin with, I'm hopelessly afraid of heights. Always have been. So I was faced with a real dilemma last night when an alarm went off in our living room, the one room with vaulted ceilings that are (adjusted for my irrational fears) about 300 or 400 ft in the center, which happens to be the location of a smoke detector, right in the corner at the top. The alarm was not an ear-shattering blast. Rather it was more like a gentle buzzing noise. Who knows, everything is old in this house--maybe this was the classic alarm sound back in the day?

I looked at it from several angles and decided there was no way I could reach the alarm. Then Cheryl suggested, as one might suggest using a spoon to a child, that I actually climb the ladder and give it a try. (Easy to say.) I'm not afraid of the dark, nor of bees, bears or bats, nor of monsters, vampires or demons, but walking up the steps of a ladder makes me want to wet my pants.

So, instead, I suggested that I could simply poke the alarm with a long stick until it sensed that I meant business and it shut up. I had just the stick in the garage. Of course, Cheryl did not think this such a great idea, but we couldn't just listen to the racket all night, and she finally had to admit that the stick was best.

After some gentle nudging, which had no effect whatsoever, I gave the annoying bleater a sharp poke with the stick, breaking the plastic cover (a little). And yet the bleating continued.

More later...