I am awakened on Sunday night at 11:30 p.m. to a *beep* (2 secs) *beep* (2 secs) *beep* . . .
It is a sound familiar to everyone with a microwave oven, except these are not the closely spaced beep, beep, beep's. No, this audible warning seemed to be more that of an electonic gadget that has run out of storage media or was emitting its low-battery tone. Either way, it appeared to be coming from the neighbors' back porch, so I got up and placed a sound recorder to capture its duration.
The Monday morning recording picked up Theresa's 12:30 a.m. entrance onto the floodlit outdoor staging area, her multiple midnight meanderings around the gravel-covered yard to gather foodstuffs from various compressor-cooled appliances, and the metallic tap, tap, tap of her spatula on the catering truck's grill as she fried up some egg-sausage concoction to stuff into breakfast burritos.
The *beep* (2 secs) *beep* (2 secs) *beep* continued, even though Tight-Lipped Theresa traveled through the back porch several times over a couple hours.
Finally, at 2:00 a.m. Monday morning, . . . *beep (2 secs) *beep* (door banging) *beep* (2 secs) *bee/ (silence) . . .