Our trash is picked up on Tuesdays. Stumpy lets me know, with her mad telepathic skillz, about an hour before he arrives.
She moves closer to the door in an effort to escape the mayhem. Her piercing and laser-like gaze warns me we may die, if we don't get indoors NOW!
The knowledge that we may not live to see another day, weighs heavily.
One last effort to get the door open before the arrival of the murderous trash truck. Telepathy has worked, in the past, to get the door open.
Not quite safe, but it will have to do.
It's Wednesday. We've lived through another attack.