It's Raining Cats and Dogs

It’s Raining Cats and Dogs.


So much water. The storms keep coming; they call it ‘training’. That’s when the storms come one after another, just like freight cars in a train.

“I’m so wet. I swear my hair is mildewed.”

“Is that actually a thing? Your hair mildewed?”

George never did like it when I exaggerated. He is more down-to-earth. Tell things as they are, keep everything on the level. Don’t get worked up about stuff.

“Well, I feel like it is. I take a shower, I get out. I dry off, I’m still wet. I dry my hair, it still feels wet. Smells mildewed.”

“Maybe you need to go to Arizona or somewhere, dry out for awhile.”

We sat at the kitchen table, trying to eat dinner. The steady pounding of rain on the tin roof of our cabin made it hard to concentrate.

“And how would I get there? Paddle?”

“Well, you’d need a boat, then you could paddle. I was thinking maybe you could drive.”

My husband, always the practical one. I checked outside. Still raining cats and dogs. Lizards and frogs. Water was rising fast. Noah was probably in his ark as we sat inside this cabin.

“How long is the rain supposed to last?” I glanced out the window, again.

“I have no idea, probably as long as it wants to. I’m not God.”

“How can you just sit there and eat soup like nothing’s happening?” I jumped up and ran to the door. When I opened it, all I could see was more rain, gray sky, wet trees.

“Easy. I’m hungry. Sit down. Relax.”

I paced the floor as the rain fell and George ate soup.

So I got my purse and the keys to the Jeep.

The drive to Arizona didn’t take more than a few days. The rain stayed with me all that first night. Then it was clear all the way to Surprise.

Dry air, clear skies, sand and cacti. I called George.

“Where are you?” he asked.

“Surprise.” I answered.

“Yes it was when I went to bed and you weren’t there. The dog misses you.”

I sort of miss that dog too.

W/C 360