My husband and I unwittingly bought a cat house. Not your kind of cat house. It was a triplex, and it turned out that our upstairs tenant was turning tricks to pay her rent. The cars would come and go, up and down our gravel driveway, starting at 11 p.m. The crunch of the gravel would wake me up, but I was so naïve, it took the police showing up one night to inform us what was going on above our bedroom before I grasped the situation.