There’s a tornado warning where I live right now. The cats and I are camped out in the bathroom.
The worst that’s happened to my home as far as I can tell so far is my front door blowing open and allowing a lot of leaves to get blown in. Not so bad, not even a little. I heard it happen initially and thought that my cats had opened the laundry room door to investigate it, as they are wont to do. Then I registered the sound of the wind.
THEN I thought someone had broken in. I edged around the corner, peered over, and saw leaves spiraling into my living room.
“Oh, what the hell,” I muttered, closed the door, and vacuumed them up.
Then all of my friends started texting to ask if I was okay, at which point I closed the kitties in the bathroom. They, of course, broke out, forcing me to manhandle them back in, one chubby, long male cat under each arm.
I sat on the ground with them, butt numb, and worked on what I was doing before all this nonsense happened: writing.
Nothing like a natural disaster to motivate you to try to get things done on the off chance your house gets destroyed and you get crushed by debris.
Please don’t kill me yet, universe. I want to get something published.
As of me finishing up writing this post, the warning has expired. That’s a load off of my mind as my mom is currently driving to come visit me, with her own dog as well as a German shepherd mom dog and her puppy that she rescued from near-death in the desert. No, I am not making that up. My family attracts stray animals like magnets.
I am going to emerge from the bathroom now so that I can go back to sitting on my nice chair as I continue to write.