Saga of the Ringing Bell

The flood has subsided, and I'm trying to summon the grit to deal with the mess it left. Lot covered with trash, deck covered with pine straw, leaves and twigs. A few wet spots on the basement floors. Bedraggled cat who looks like he was out in the middle of it, but he wasn't.

The dollhouse has a new chimney, new moldings, this-and-that. Ready for a new staircase. I've paced the floor, trying to figure out how to make one. If I had fifty dollars, I'd buy one ready-made. Maybe I can find a "stringer" at Michael's.

Last night the doorbell rang and woke me up. I lay there for a minute, thinking, "It must be Ramey on her way to work." So I turned over and looked at the clock, and it was 2:30 a.m. Deja-vu all over again.

This has happened several times before. The first time, several years ago, I got up in the dark, crouched by the office window, and watched someone running away from the front porch. And it has happened at least once in the past year, because I remember telling Ramey about it.

The reason it bothers me is that I think they may be planning to try to break in, if no one reacts to the bell.

Last night I finally got up, turned on the porch lights, and called 911. Apologized for bothering them, explained that it happens every once-in-a-while, and they sent a police car cruising by. End of story. I finally lay back down and slept till noon.
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There ought to be a programmable device to connect with the doorbell. Between midnight and six a.m., it would shoot a non-lethal load of buckshot at whoever pushes the button.