A Visit from the Fire Department, Thanksgiving Morning, 2a.m.

It turns out that, sometimes, carbon monoxide detectors actually work

A stranger saved my life on Thanksgiving morning.

Maybe that’s a little melodramatic. But then, I tend to be a little overwrought where toxic fumes are concerned.

The unknown person in question was walking down 10th Avenue in Denver in the wee hours of Thanksgiving morning, heard an alarm beep…beep…BEEPING, and saw steam whirling from a vent on the facade of the two-story home where our son has an apartment. My wife and I were on the top floor, blissfully sleeping, with visions of Thanksgiving feasts dancing in our heads.

As we dozed, the stranger dialed 911 to anonymously report the beep beep BEEPING, and then continued on his/her way. Who does that? On the street at 1:45am, quite possibly stumbling home after the bars closed, or holding up the 7–11, or masterminding a cranberry-sauce heist, or quite possibly all three, and thinking: What’s that alarm? I’ll just whip out my cell and call the cops.

I’ll tell you who wouldn’t do that: Me. My main religion is Avoidism. Avoid hassle. Avoid entanglement. Avoid the cops.

What beeping noise?

In fact, just two hours prior to this stranger’s action, a carbon monoxide alarm in our apartment (we were cat-sitting for my son and his g.f.) had sounded, and I yanked the bleeping thing off the wall thinking: Damn, another false alarm! But because Claire immediately woke up to reinforce the alarm, I acted semi-responsibly. I opened a couple of windows, took out the batteries to reset the CO detector, and (key step) put the batteries back in. Then I stared at the green light on the alarm, which stayed reassuringly green for at least 45 seconds, and then we went back to sleep.

Mission accomplished, to quote George Bush.

The excitement resumed at 2am, when the alarm resumed shrieking, and we simultaneously heard loud pounding coming up from below. Claire peeked out through the venetian blinds and exclaimed: “There’s a huge firetruck in the street outside!”

“Tell me I’m dreaming,” I dreamt, “because this reality kinda sucks.”

I silenced the alarm, again, then pulled on the random clothes I found on the bedroom floor. Did you know that it’s cold at night in Denver at 2am? I soon found out exactly how cold as I crashed down the outdoor stairway into the backyard, and walked toward the banging.

Hello, Denver Fire Department!

There were four firefighters, in full kit, bang bang BANGING at the downstairs neighbor’s door, as their CO detector tattooed a backbeat: BEEP BEEP BEEEEEEP.

“What’s up, guys?” I yelped. A little too insouciantly, in retrospect. That’s when I learned of the stranger who’d dialed 911: “We’ve had a report of a carbon monoxide release. Are your neighbors home?”

His unfinished thought: “…and, do you know if they are alive?”

The fire team had my full attention now.

You’ve probably read the same articles I have, under headlines like:

FAMILY OF FOUR PERISHES IN SLEEP.

FAULTY MONOXIDE DETECTOR FOUND.

CHRISTMAS PRESENTS UNOPENED.

IT WAS PROBABLY THE FATHER’S FAULT

We spent the next half hour calling and texting the neighbors’ cell numbers, with mounting alarm. Beep. Beep. BEEP. The firefighters brandished their axes with a mind to bash down the doors.

Meanwhile one of the guys clumped upstairs with me, bringing his “sniffer” to take a carbon monoxide reading in our place. This simultaneously reassured us and totally freaked us out. Likewise Meeko the cat, only now there wasn’t room for all three of us under the bed.

Two stories up from the faulty furnace, the sniffer operator was getting a reading of 30 parts per million, CO. It would have taken another hundred and thirty PPM to produce, as the Consumer Products Safety Administration warns, “disorientation, unconsciousness, and death.”

Actually, the first two describe me on a typical day, so nothing new there. But death? That would have put me off my cranberry sauce.

Finally Ashleigh, from downstairs, responded to her exploding phone, sleepily informing us that she and her partner were in Grand Junction, 240 miles away. Not even the CPSA would worry about CO at that distance.

Meanwhile, the firefighters had found a lock box on one of the downstairs doors and bashed it open to gain access to the locked apartment. Soon they were in the basement, holding their collective breaths, while the sniffer informed them that the CO levels were above 500 PPM. That was enough to kill us all three times over.

Once would have been enough, really.

They shut down the furnace, and installed industrial fans upstairs and down, to suck out the poison gas. We opened all our windows, and refreshing night air (38 degrees) rushed in.

Claire and I donned ski wear and sat down at the dinner table with mugs of hot cocoa, chattering our thanks to the unknown hero who had called 911. And to our fully reliable CO detectors. Also, to whoever invited Ashleigh to Grand Junction for the holiday.

We made it, thank goodness.

If we’d died, who would have given Meeko her kibble in the morning?

Thank you, anonymous stranger! And a heartfelt meow from Meeko.