In Case of Tornado, I’ll Be Stuck With the Cat Boxes

I hid in the basement last Wednesday afternoon for a good half hour.
It was just me, the dog and the laptop.
And nothing happened.
Scratch that.
I got some work done; a whole post written on the five products you shouldn’t bother to accept as hand-me-downs when you’re pregnant. Thrilling, I know, but that aside, nothing more came of my half hour on the bottom step of a humid basement than the outright understanding of how desperately my cat’s litter box needed to be cleaned.
Let’s just say the dog – in her rare chance to enter said basement – helped with that one. In the wrong way.
So I felt like a true ninny admitting the tornado watches blowing through the county sent me scurrying for the cellar.
This isn’t Kansas.
It’s upstate New York, where the wind goes sweeping straight into the side of a mountain.
It’s our dearth of devastating weather events that makes the few that happen (can anyone say flood?) so much more distressing.
Go ahead and call it an excuse, but the rest of the world isn’t buying it.
To wit, a little bit of wind makes a Nebraska native pull up their collar and keep going.
It sends a whey faced New Yorker tumbling down the basement steps only to surface red-faced and slightly smelly a half hour later, wondering where the time went.
That’s me.
Lily livered.
Yellow bellied.
Fraidy cat.
The sky turned green, and I hid like my dog trying to stuff a 70-pound body into the space between the front and back seats of my car when we pull into the animal clinic driveway. I’ll give her the fur-matching brown upholstery.
It still doesn’t get her out of the shots.
I didn’t get out of work. Or get an out on cleaning the water logged rugs in my bedroom.
But the cat boxes got cleaned.

Image via PazLeonel/Flickr

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