Cat Tales – The Cats and Idalia – The Gadsden County Times

I don’t know where their messaging comes from, but the cats have their own communication system. It is different from mine. It is different from the dog.

I get my heads-up about approaching storms from the radio and TV (when they are working) or my emergency battery operated weather radio when they aren’t.

The dog, who is old, either doesn’t get any communication about approaching storms, or if he does, he ignores them. He sticks to his schedule, eating, mostly sleeping, and taking bathroom breaks the same way- hurricane or not.

The cats become skittish about a week before we humans do. Somehow, they know something is brewing and that something that’s brewing isn’t good. They won’t eat. They rush around frantically, but aimlessly. They cry piteously for no apparent reason. They look to me for help, but I have no idea how to help them. I try stroking their fur and telling them softly that everything is going to be alright. They stare at me, their eyes wide with fear, their ears laid back, and don’t believe a word I say.

On the night before the hurricane is supposed to hit Florida, the dog is sleeping soundly in his playpen. The cats are nowhere to be found. I begin a door to door, room to room search. I scope out the screened-in porch. No cats. Could they have gotten outside? I go out. It is windy. It is raining hard. I call and call. No cats. I come back inside wet, cold and shivering, my hair drenched and dangling in my eyes. I am worried more about my cats than I am about the hurricane.

I know what I must do. Despite my bad knees, I must get down on the floor and begin looking under things. I strap on my knee braces. I strap pillows around the braces. I strew pillows all over the floors in the house. I cautiously lower myself to ground level, letting out a small scream when those patellae touch ground zero. This doesn’t even disturb the snoring dog. I begin crawling, looking like a homemade rendition of a robot dog. I lift dust ruffles to look under beds. I lift flounces to look under furniture. My aching knees are killing me, but I lift the skirt on a hassock and there is a fat Beebe cat trembling and staring at me with frightened eyes. I replace the flap and continue on in pursuit of Momau, who I find under the flounce of a side chair by the sliding glass doors. Sweet Momau hisses at me, and I leave her in her den.

With the cats found, I settle down on the couch, keeping up with the news on TV, between bouts of snoozing. I hear the wind whistling and the rain pounding. I do not hear the huge crashes of trees falling that I heard with Michael. About 5 Am, the dog wakes me up barking. It is time for his potty break. I carry him to the front door, wondering how he is going to withstand the melee going on out there. He marches out, ears and tail whipped out straight behind him and staggers off to do his business. No hurricane is going to keep him from his appointed schedule. He staggers in, goes back to bed and is asleep again instantly. I guess being old isn’t all bad.

Moring comes. The hurricane has hit land as a cat3. The house is still standing-no damage just some overturned pots, a trellis down, nothing major. The power is still on. The TV is still running. I say a prayer of thanks and a prayer for anyone not so lucky as us.

I notice a pile of vomit by the sliding door beside Momau’ s hiding place. Since she’s barely eaten the last few days, I’m surprised she had anything in her stomach to bring up. She strolls out, looks at the mess and seems surprised herself, before making her way to the kitchen where I can hear her nibbling on her crunchies.

I wipe up the vomit and grab the spray Swiffer to disinfect the floor. I keep pushing the spray button, but nothing seems to be happening. I turn on the overhead light to see what the matter is. I had overshot my mark. A major part of the great room was flooded. In a few short minutes I had done more damage to our home than Idalia had done all night. As I stand there, hair unkempt, knees surrounded by foreign apparatus, the floor littered with soaked pillows, 2 cats and 1 old dog walk by giving me the most disdainful look you can imagine.

More later, Judy and the cats

Cat Tales – The Cats and Idalia

Gadsden County Times – Legals – 9/7

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Cat Tales – The Cats and Idalia

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Gadsden County Times – Legals – 9/7

If all the decluttering you did over the summer has now left you with piles of belongings, you might be ready to just have it all gone.

If all the decluttering you did over the summer has now left you with piles of belongings, you might be ready to just have it all gone.

Recommended

Alzheimer’s Brain Bus to visit Gadsden County

County risks losing $20,000 as property purchase negotiations are extended

Popular News

Newsletter

Category

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About Us

Welcome Back!

Create New Account!

Retrieve your password

Are you sure want to unlock this post?

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