Hurricanes may be somewhat exciting in the occurrence, but they are no fun in the long run. This is a truth that everyone on the eastern
coast of the US comes to understand eventually.
As a child I lived in Connecticut, about five miles inland from Long
Island Sound, during the two hurricanes that hit in the summer of 1955. I remember walking around through the house
independent of my very edgy parents, being secretly thrilled by the sound of
the wind and the sight of bushes and trees whipping to and fro when I peeked
around the venetian blinds to see what made the noise. After that, owing to an inland address over
the years, I’ve had little direct contact with serious hurricane activity until
this week, when Sandy marched ashore in southern New Jersey and reconfigured
too many lives.
Once again, the storm itself did
not seem too awful where I live (in the north) when it was going on. Rain and wind notwithstanding, our most
exciting moment came when Steve went out to the garage (20 or so yards from the
kitchen door) after we lost power at supper time on Monday night
to take care
of some detail or other. I stood in the
kitchen doorway, confident that Imogen (the black cat) was ignoring me from her
cat bed about 10 feet from me and that Eugenia (the tiger cat) was sleeping in
Jessica’s lap in the front room—much farther away. As I watched Steve puttering in the garage
with his flashlight bobbing, I suddenly felt a small push against my ankle and
looked down to see Eugenia moving slowly past me on to the deck and into the
gathering darkness and rain. I leaped to
pounce on her, getting her around the body, but she slithered away leaving me
only her tail to grab. Grab it I did—hard—and
pulled her back toward me and into my arms, accompanied by a full-bodied
screeching and caterwauling event. It
must have hurt like sin. Back in the
kitchen, I dropped her and slammed the door, but the fun was just
beginning.
Roused from sleepy complacency,
Imogen went into full defense mode, sure that I had imported an alien being—she
attacked without restraint and a ball of screeching cats wheeled out of the
kitchen, through the dining room and into the front room, landing behind the
couch! Although I was in a bit of a
panic by this time, I followed and grabbed Imogen as soon as I could see her,
removing her to the living room where I could shut her in. By the time I came back to the front room,
Eugenia was no where to be found…
As my weary mind and racing
heart began to recover, I started to doubt my senses…had it really been
Eugenia, or had I mistakenly imported Apollo, my neighbor’s rescued tomcat, and
caused a war? It took several more
minutes before I could reconstruct what actually happened (there was a clear
moment when I understood it was Eugenia and no one else, but it took some time
to recall that scene) and by that time, Jessica had called the neighbors to ask
them if they had all their cats! They
think we are crazy anyway, I’m afraid, so it didn’t phase them. When my neighbor called back, I told him it
was a false alarm…
The hurricane continued, of
course. Eugenia forgave me or, more
likely, forgot all about it. Now, five days
in, we still have no substantial electric power. Our limited gasoline-powered generator faltered badly, needing to be nursed extensively until it finally started to
work properly last night, but we certainly consider ourselves fortunate—we have water,
cooking gas, down quilts, and cell phones, but most of all, a safe roof over
our heads, and the kindness of others—we have been offered amazing support and
assistance by neighbors and friends! We
will survive this slow, cold process.
The complete destruction faced by other New Jerseyans to the south is
unimaginable. In the face of their
struggles, complaints from us would be outrageous. On top of everything, both of our most innocent and trusting family members--our little tigers--are still with us!
No comments:
Post a Comment