The Mansion is not a fortress. It IS penetrable, especially in a reverse kind of way. Common sense flies out the window on a regular basis around here. Even though the windows are closed and locked and double-paned, with weather-stripping.
Farmer H had started a load of laundry while I was gone to town. That's not unusual on a Sunday. I didn't pay much attention. Sometimes he calls from the recliner to ask if the washer is still running. The Pony was standing at the cutting block, putting away groceries he had carried in for me.
CLANG! CLANG! CLANG! CLANG! CLANG! CLANG! CLANG!
The Pony continued taking bread out of a bag to move to the cabinet. Even though he was standing closest to the laundry room, with his back to the door, he made no motion to check on that OBVIOUSLY ABNORMAL SOUND FROM THE WASHER. He just looked at me, eyebrows raised. Of course Farmer H did not break his recline.
"Well! Go turn it off!"
"How was I supposed to know?" Groused The Pony. Most assuredly not interested in helping ME, Farmer H, or the washer.
"Shove in the dial! That turns it off! HEY! Your laundry is messed up. You probably have the washer overloaded."
"No. I only put three pairs of jeans in there."
"I guess maybe you should distribute the load a little more evenly. Come in and fix them."
Sweet Gummi Mary! I shudder to think what they might have done if that happened while I was still in town. The washer might have walked across the ceramic tile, and broken a hose trying to get away. I seriously don't know how they've lived this long without a major catastrophe.