01/28/2026
JC and the Committee of People Who Enjoy Sleeping
JC had always been the unofficial guardian of his neighborhood—a tall, white-haired, white-bearded sentinel with a toolbox in one hand and a bucket of good intentions in the other.
If Mrs. Hargrove, the cat lady next door, needed help rescuing Mittens #12 from a tree, JC was there. If old Mr. Benton’s porch light fizzled out again, JC fixed it before the man even realized it was broken. The whole street knew that if something needed repairing, rescuing, or reinventing, JC would handle it before the end of the day— or at least before dinner.
But then everything changed.
His quiet next-door neighbor moved away and turned the house into an Airbnb—one that apparently only accepted guests who enjoyed yelling, drinking, DJ-ing, and howling at the moon until 3 a.m.
After three nights of sleepless chaos, JC decided it was time for some gentle, neighborly intervention.
First, he began his “accidental” 5:30 a.m. leaf-blower routine—right outside their bedroom window.
When that didn’t do the trick, he started “testing” the emergency siren he’d kept from his land-surveying days.
And for the grand finale, he left a very realistic Neighborhood HOA Noise Violation Notice on their door—signed, mysteriously, by The Committee of People Who Enjoy Sleeping.
The guests checked out early the next morning, looking like they had seen the Ghost of County Ordinance Past.
That evening, victorious and finally surrounded by blessed silence, JC walked back into his house—ready to celebrate a job well done.
Waiting for him on the table was a steaming dish of squirrel pie, courtesy of the roaming critters who always seemed to leave him “gifts.”
JC sighed, shrugged, and laughed.
“Well,” he said to no one in particular, “compared to that Airbnb, this is the tastiest problem I’ve had all week.”
