When I was 24 I had a house fire. I was asleep at the time. My life and that of my roommate were saved by her 6 month old cat waking us up. The now-former roommate still has a faint scar on her face where he clawed her to get her to wake up and then she woke me up. She then became disoriented and I got her, a golden retriever, two cats and 6 kittens out of the house.
I had to live in a hotel for 6 months before I could return home and lost many things to fire, smoke, and water damage. The living in the hotel thing was fun at first but became tedious over time. I was the only guest on Christmas, so the staff let me help decorate the tree in the lobby and I had the hot tub and gym to myself for a few days, so that was cool. Tim, the night manager would call me every morning with my wake-up call. He would say “223, this is your wake-up call,” and I would thank him.
Once my house was finally put back together, I returned to my house and started to try and re-orient myself to the changed (and now somewhat dangerous feeling) place. My first night was good and I woke up to the phone ringing and Tim’s voice saying, “223, this is your wake-up call.” That’s when I knew every thing would be ok.