Have you ever awoke to the sound of someone in you living room?

On Thursday night last week I woke up at 11:30 to the sound of someone walking around my living room. After looking under the covers to make sure my feet were still there and, at the same time, test whether I as dreaming, I decided that something weird and spooky was going on.
It was the sound of boards creaking under the weight of a foot attached to a body. I quickly ran through the scenarios about how someone would get in. Did I leave one of the three entrances unlocked like I did twice the previous week? Did the prowler come in through a window? Had I paid my bookie? How come I didn't hear the sound of breaking glass? How is he/she walking around in the dark without a flashlight? Then the sound stopped. Good, I thought, probably just the sound of the waterheater... getting a midnight snack... in the living room. Then it started again. The sound of someone trying to be as quiet as they can, but not doing a very good job.
Why hadn't I bought that hand gun I promised myself after I saw some putz dragging a hooker down the street last winter. Never mind... I keep a baseball bat in my closet, which means I have to get out of bed and walk across my squeaky bedroom floor to get to it. What if mr. Prowler hears me and paid has a handgun, because he listens to the little voice in his head!  I'm screwed. But, as long as this is going to be the night I die, I may as well get it over with. I silently tossed my sheets back (I sleep with two sheets 'cause one is not warm enough and a sheet and blanket are too warm), I swung my feet out, with my eyes closed, because I hear better that way. I didn't hear a thing, except for those footsteps and the beating of my heart. Again, I tried to calm myself, perhaps it was the wind in the chimney or the chirping of a cricket or only a mouse crossing the floor. Yeah, those things all make sounds like someone walking on squeaky floor boards! Dumbass! Yes, the little voice in my head called me a "dumbass".
My self-degrading lasted but a second. Like a ballet dancer I was on my feet in one lithe move. I've learned many things watching TV over the years, like, how I hate watching other people kiss; how uncomfortable it is watching people do the horizontal bop with your mother in the room; how makeup can make everyone look better except Gloria Alred, but, with respect to the here-and-know, I've always wondered why people lifted their feet when trying to "sneak". Seriously, it always occurred to me that shuffling across a floor would make far less noise. Unfortunately, I had never tested my logic. But, I'll be danged, it seems to be true, because, I swear, I did not make a sound as I made my way to the closet, three strides, and because I'm not a woman and don't give a damn whether or not the closet door is open when I turn out the light, that was one less noise I had to worry about.  Into the darkness I reached, my fingers bumping the bat right where grip is. I silently removed the bat. Then, stood silently in the dark. Actually, my room isn't 'pitch' dark. The neighbor leaves his "security" light on all night. And because I haven't gotten around to getting black-out curtains, a sliver of light, six feet in length and a quarter inch wide defiles the otherwise sanitary blackness of the night, like the sound of those footsteps have defiled my sense of security and which suddenly sound like theyre getting closer!
Once again my heart is racing. What if he shoots through the door? Then I shouldn't stand there! What if he kicks the door open? Then I shouldn't stand there either. And, CRAP, I'm on the wrong side of the kicked in door! I need to be on the other side so if he kicks it in, I can smack him in the puss with my Easton 32 ouncer. So I quickly shuffle to the right side of the door and get into my "I'm gonna smack the sh** out of that ball" stance. By the way, if you're wondering, the reason I can shuffle across the floor like Goofey on ice skates is I wear socks to bed. It's a recent innovation. While trying to discern optimal temperature for sleeping, it occured when I'm hot, my feet are happy as clams, but when I'm just right, my feet are cold. Hence, two sheets and two socks. Now I know how Goldilocks felt when she slipped betweem ma bears sheets.
Suddenly, the sound stopped. Had the person heard me? Was he planning his next dastardly move? Was he reloading his gun? Why would he be reloading his gun? Wait! Maybe I can see the light from his flashlight. Surely he has a flashlight. What kind of a prowler would prowl at night without a torch? So, silently, I lowered myself, first by the knees bending then by my torso folding at the waist, lowering my head to see if I can detect the passing light from a flashlight as it searches the darkness for clues. Tick, tick, tick... I can hear the sound of the great looking clock I bought at Big Lots for $9.95. Had I known it was going to make that much g-damn noise, I'd have bought the set of Ice tea glasses, instead. At this moment, it was comforting. Annoying, but comforting. Nothing. Minutes pass. It's now past midnight, I'm sure of it. And no more noise? What the hell is going on? How dare the prowler leave without at least trying to steal stuff in my bedroom.
Not being sure that said prowler had left, I couldn't get myself to settle. So, I decided to end it here and now. I thought about it some more. Maybe I should shuffle over to my nightstand and dial 911. Maybe I should have thought of that earlier. Yeah, but, it would be so embarrassing trying to explain how a chirping cricket could sound like a 200 pound man crossing a wooden floor! I decided that it had to end, here and now. This was it, the sum-total of my life. I was going out in a blaze of glory. Then I was going back to bed cause I "needs me 8 hours"!
Like Butch and Sundance, unaware what awaited me, I turned on the light and threw open the door. Silence. Sweet silence. No, wait, what's that? It's that noise... it's coming from... Above? Someone is in my attic? How the hell did they he up there? So I tap, tap, tapped on the 2by2 foot cover, just over my head, that leads into the attic. I do it again. And then I hear the tell tale sound of scratching. The kind of scratching only a four legged prowler makes when the claws are either on a rat or a possum. I was soo relieved. I could-a kissed that rat! I mean, think about it, at that very moment, I could have been lying on the floor, my life blood spilling on the squeaky floor boards, my body in the position of every body chalked on network TV, but no, there I was, putting my bat back in the closet, no, wait, better keep it next to the bed, just in case my rat friend can lift the board covering the attic access and I need to thump his little rat pumpkin. I don't need no stinking gun.