Admire attire, pants on fire.

Every once in a while the universe sends you little tests. Sometimes it is a test of morality. Sometimes it is a test of loyalty. And sometimes, much like the case in story you’re about to read, it is test of survival.

I had just snuggled into bed and was drifting off to sleep, when suddenly I heard the loudest, most awful noise of my life.

What was that?

Were my retired neighbours hosting another rave with siren-themed house music? Had some of the rhinestones on my heavily be-dazzled eye shade come loose and fallen into my ear causing some sort of severe cochlea nerve impulse?

No. It was actually a fire alarm in my building.

Appreciating the seriousness of a fire alarm, I immediately did a back handspring out of bed and landed it in star formation.

My first thought (as it is in all emergency scenarios) was:

What would Miley Cyrus do?

And the obvious answer was:

Pick an outfit.

Clearly I couldn’t go outside in the tank top and pink Paul Frank shorts covered in cartoon monkey faces that I was currently sporting. So I racked my brain for the most appropriate fire emergency outfit. I did, after all, have many issues to consider. Is it cold out? Are jeans too casual? Is my new wrap sweater fire retardant?

This was proving to be a very stressful situation. I finally decided on my black Juicy hoodie, a white tank top, my favourite jeans and my white pumps with the kitten heel. I felt like the pumps were a responsible choice because the kitten heel was just high enough that my jeans wouldn’t drag on the ground, yet the heel was low enough that I could stand outside for an extended period of time and still maintain a level of shoe comfort that enabled local fire fighters to put out the blaze without being interrupted by me having to run back in to change my footwear.

With my outfit planned I was ready to move towards phase two of my fire emergency evacuation plan:

Wrangle and rescue all dependents. AKA: the cat.

In my rush to assemble an outfit I had lost track of the little guy, but I had a pretty good idea of where he would be given that the alarm bells were still screaming.

I crouched on the floor and peered under my bed to find my dear little Sugey-monster cowering in the depths. As I extended my arm to try to grab hold of a furry little leg, Suge slinked further away. After trying this several times I realized that he had crept so far away from me that he was actually closer to the edge of the other side of the bed. So I stood up and leapt over top of the bed with the skill of an Olympic hurdler. As soon as Suge saw me coming at him from this new angle he scurried back to the other side again.

Sigh. This wasn’t working.

Retrieving my pink giraffe print broom from the laundry room I began to try to flush Suge out from under the bed with some light broom nudging. This seemed to be successful until he ran out from under the bed and a foot chase ensued. He zig-zagged around me, faked me out and then shot back under the bed as though he was executing some sort of well thought out football manoeuvre. I broomed him out once again only to watch him bolt into the living room and under the couch. Still determined to rescue my fuzzy little friend, I too dove under the couch where I finally managed to grab a leg and haul him out. There were paws and claws flailing everywhere as I finally got him into his cat carrier.

It briefly crossed my mind to put Suge's bow tie on him in case the blaze was serious enough to attract the attention of a news crew, but based on the non-verbal disagreement we'd already had leading up to his capture I thought it might be best just to leave him alone.

With the alarm still wailing, I start to feel a little panicky. But as I pass the hall mirror I catch a glimpse of myself and am taken aback by the site of my well thought out fire emergency outfit covered in cat fur.

Good lord. I can’t go outside looking like this. I pause to retrieve my lint roller and remove the fur from my entire outfit, then gather up my coat, my cell phone, my purse, my keys and the cat carrier. Juggling all these items, I reach for the door knob and…

The alarm stops going off.

It’s over. And we didn’t make it out.

I freeze and press my ear against the door.

I certainly can’t go out there now. Everyone would know that I spent all that evacuation time lint rolling and playing tag with my cat.

I hear people file back into the building and grumblings of “false alarm” and “faulty system”. Then I hear the elderly lady two doors down open her door and squawk “what was that?” and someone reply loudly “it was a fire alarm” to which she responded “oh” and slammed her door shut again.

Apparently I wasn’t the only one who didn’t make it out in time.

Sure, it was probably the fact that she was nearly deaf that prevented her from fleeing but I still believe there was a possibility that maybe she too had been trying to pick an outfit the whole time.

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Thanks for enjoying these deep thoughts with Meghan.