I don't like tornados.
Okay, that? Was really, really scary.
One time in the eight and a half years I've lived in the Chicago area, there was a tornado watch in my town. Of course, it doesn't help me that I can never remember which one--"watch" or "warning"--means OMG TAKE COVER TORNADO NOW.
Yeah, that would be "warning," which is what we had tonight. Funnel cloud actually touched ground two towns over on its way out toward the lake and then into Indiana. There were sirens in my town and everything. Of course, I live in a third-floor apartment with rooms whose outer walls are 90 percent windows, in a building with no true basement. I mean, there's a basement, but it's not a place you can get two cats down to in a rush, and one of its walls is made out of windows.
So when the radio said, "Seriously, take cover now," I wrangled the cats into the bathroom. Minou was easy; Scout got away and had to be re-caught. I had my little wind-up flashlight/radio deal and sat on the floor furiously winding it. But, you know, the bathroom's outer wall is also made of windows, and there's nothing to hide under in there if shit starts flying around. So I snuck out of the bathroom, put some bottled water into the living room closet, and then dragged the cats there. Minou was easy; Scout got away and had to be re-caught. And then we huddled in there as the building shook with the wind and thunder and I wound my radio until 20 minutes after they said the tornado had moved into Indiana.
I've ventured out, but I've left the cats in the closet with some tuna and water. I just... I'm sure it won't come back, but I don't want to have to round them up again, or to chase after Scout as she dodges under one piece of furniture after another while the windows rattle as if they're going to fly at me and knock me out and the whole freaking building comes apart around me. Ugh.
I'm a huge bundle of nerves now, though I've been out of the closet (ahem) for a half hour now. Marc called to check up on me (having got my "Um, there are sirens. What am I supposed to do?" message), and my voice was all shaky. As are my hands. I've patched myself together a single, very low-dose tequila-and-orange-juice (because that's what's in the house) cocktail to take the edge off and am now heading back into my paper.
/titty baby
One time in the eight and a half years I've lived in the Chicago area, there was a tornado watch in my town. Of course, it doesn't help me that I can never remember which one--"watch" or "warning"--means OMG TAKE COVER TORNADO NOW.
Yeah, that would be "warning," which is what we had tonight. Funnel cloud actually touched ground two towns over on its way out toward the lake and then into Indiana. There were sirens in my town and everything. Of course, I live in a third-floor apartment with rooms whose outer walls are 90 percent windows, in a building with no true basement. I mean, there's a basement, but it's not a place you can get two cats down to in a rush, and one of its walls is made out of windows.
So when the radio said, "Seriously, take cover now," I wrangled the cats into the bathroom. Minou was easy; Scout got away and had to be re-caught. I had my little wind-up flashlight/radio deal and sat on the floor furiously winding it. But, you know, the bathroom's outer wall is also made of windows, and there's nothing to hide under in there if shit starts flying around. So I snuck out of the bathroom, put some bottled water into the living room closet, and then dragged the cats there. Minou was easy; Scout got away and had to be re-caught. And then we huddled in there as the building shook with the wind and thunder and I wound my radio until 20 minutes after they said the tornado had moved into Indiana.
I've ventured out, but I've left the cats in the closet with some tuna and water. I just... I'm sure it won't come back, but I don't want to have to round them up again, or to chase after Scout as she dodges under one piece of furniture after another while the windows rattle as if they're going to fly at me and knock me out and the whole freaking building comes apart around me. Ugh.
I'm a huge bundle of nerves now, though I've been out of the closet (ahem) for a half hour now. Marc called to check up on me (having got my "Um, there are sirens. What am I supposed to do?" message), and my voice was all shaky. As are my hands. I've patched myself together a single, very low-dose tequila-and-orange-juice (because that's what's in the house) cocktail to take the edge off and am now heading back into my paper.
/titty baby