I am blessed with a great big, nicely groomed backyard, a miracle to have on the Plateau. There are flowers all around and even a herb garden. At night, however, my backyard becomes both bawdy house and gladiatorial arena to the neighborhood cats. Every third night or so I am awakened by the clamor of unabashed feline love or hate. I can usually tell which by the sound.

What my upstairs neighbors are up to, however, is not so easy to figure out. See, every once in a while I hear the voices of at least two people of each gender, loudly… uh, well having a great time. Generally, I’d be thinking that they’re simply having your normal, run-of-the-mill orgy, were it not for one funny little fact: whenever they go at it, they can also simultaneously be heard running quickly from one end of the apartment to the other, back and forth. Makes for one hell of a racket, and I can’t for the life of me figure out what’s going on up there.

I told a friend about this and he suggested that next time I hear it, I simply go upstairs with a smile and a bottle of wine, and see what happens. Europeans.