Burnin Down the House

Last Friday I returned home a little early from a fun day outside, chock full of electrofishing and macroinvertebrate hunting. When I turned the key and stepped inside, I immediately smelled something foul burning and noticed a lamp overturned on the floor in the living room. I walked over to the lamp, and it was indeed smoking; but the real shock came when I picked it up off the floor and a chunk of shag carpet and wood was fused to the bulb. Below, a hole (approximately four inches in diameter) had burned through not only the funky synthetic fibers, but also the padding, floorboards, and into the sub-floor. At the very bottom of this hole, the wood was smoldering like a campfire about to burst into flame. I ran into the kitchen and filled a cup with water to put out the tinder. I truly believe if I had come home just a little later, my house would have been up in flames.

This drama left me quite shaken -- with the house full of wispy smoke and the crispy hole still steaming from the dousing -- as I imagined little Stella burned to a little pile of cat-ashes.

Stella. Which brings us to the "How did this happen?" question. I came to the following conclusions: 1.) Brandon left the lamp on during the work day. 2.) Stella leapt into the window knocking the lamp on the floor and forcing the shade from the bulb. 3.) B&I have been waiting to switch to CFLs in this room, but have been waiting until our orig bulbs burn out -- a mistake because CFLs are all cool-to-the-touch and stuff.

Not such a big deal when viewed in isolation. But consider the following ridiculous scenario from a few months ago:

We were watching a movie, when I smelled gas in the house. A lot. Like the omg, my house is about to blow up amount. So we called the fire department and asked them to come out to check for a leak.

We expected a fire dude or two with their little gas meters, but soon we heard the sirens - Screaming through the west side of Athens, the fire department blocked off our street and THREE full fire engines filled the narrow road. FIVE firemen, in full gear came busting into the house. Their gas meters were clicking away like crazy and they became very worried - yes, your house is full of natural gas. This could be very dangerous...

They traced the leak to its source by following the increasing intensity of the clicks - all the way to the the kitchen stove. They checked behind it. No busted gas line. all looked well. To the oven itself - not on. To the burners - aha! The front burner was turned on by just the slightest amount - not enough to light but just leak a bit, slowly filling the house. We are idiots.

So the crew packed up, looking a little disappointed. They were bored and it appears we had gotten them out of the station for a little while, only to find nothing exciting once they got there. No home explosions tonight.

When we went back into the kitchen to consider how this had happened, we remembered we had not used the stove at all that day (or the day before). But we had placed a bowl on a nearby table, thereby creating a navigable bridge to the stove top for our furry friend. In fact, I HAD seen Stella playing on the range that afternoon, come to think of it. She must have bumped the knob when we shooed her down. The creature has a death wish. And I have panic attacks, thinking she's going to kill us while we sleep.