Sooo… our thermostat tried to kill us. We are fine. The house is fine. The animals are fine.
The reason I start with everything is fine is that a few years ago my neurologist’s nurse called me after an MRI to say that there was an occlusion on my brain scan. Well, that can’t be good, right? So I proceed to sob incoherently in my car for ten minutes in the parking lot at work.
Phone rings, it is the neurologist apologizing profusely for her nurse who (a) wasn’t supposed to be the one to call me, and (2) who decided to read the MRI and tell me what she thought of it. I had no occlusion, nor anything else wrong with my brain.
At some point it became funny, and I started to tell my friend, without the initial disclaimer. After calming her down, I promised to always start with “I’m fine.”
So… back to the thermostat. I was working upstairs and hear my beloved scream F#&$! I come running down and hear “FIRE!” Wait, what? He asks if I smell smoke.
Not until I got fully downstairs. Then I smelled electrical fire. Now at this point I should mention we are in a 120 year old farmhouse, so it isn’t out of the realm of possibilities.
We call 911, and gather the kittens to wait outside. They do not like kitty jail. Soon the sirens can be heard.
We got lucky. They had their scanner thingy that checks for heat. We smelled it before it did anything bad. Bonus… no asmonia, so no COVID-19.
It was the thermostat, with a spark, in the dining room.
Now we have fancy pants thermostats that can be changed from a phone. And caused quite stir on our local Facebook group.