Riding the Storm Out

What began as a lovely, sunny day morphed into a scary nightmare of bright flashing light, high winds, heavy rains and rolling big booms.

I had helped the British One with his painting tasks, and then after we’d rinsed the brushes and cleaned up a bit the pair of us settled onto the sofa to await Softie’s arrival home. I could feel the weather changing, even though it looked deceptively warm and sunny out the big front window. The British One switched on the tv and discovered news of impending bad storms. I’m clever enough not to need a tv for such things.

Softie eschews the bus when the weather is nice, and obviously she hadn’t gotten the memo that there were bad storms on the horizon, because she came strolling in with the iPod in her ears, oblivious to the loud, scary sirens blaring out warnings of storms and tornados. I was very happy to see her, and leapt from the sofa to greet her and get my daily fete’n’pet. She scooped me up into her arms and carried me around, but when she asked me if I wanted to go outside I had to decline. I knew the weather would be turning ugly very soon, and I didn’t want to be caught outdoors. Instead demanded some dinner.

Soon afterwards the wind picked up, and I hopped upon the back of the sofa to watch the trees sway and the squirrels scatter. I noticed The Don still sitting outside, gaily rocking in her porch swing and chatting merrily with two visitors, and wondered why she hadn’t yet gone inside where she would be safe.

I felt it in my best interest to climb into Softie’s lap to ride out the storm, but no sooner did I get settled that a very bright flash startled her off the sofa and away from the window. I scurried back to the sofa to see what was happening out the window, but the rain came bucketing down so heavily that I could barely see. I did, however, see The Don huddled in her rain coat, trying desperately to reach her front door, but the wind was so strong that she couldn’t take a step without fear of falling. Her visitors had already made a dash into her home, seemingly forgetting that The Don was there!

Her son came running to her aid from a nearby house, and scooped her up into his arms, just as Softie did the same to me.

She carried me into the kitchen, where the British One stood peering out the door to the back garden. Softie and I did the same, and I was amazed by the bending trees and sailing debris. I hoped The Don was now safely watching the storm from her kitchen, like I was in mine.