I love thunderstorms. It’s kind of a survival tactic, because I grew up in the South and if I didn’t love thunderstorms, I would’ve been one sad, sad redneck. You cannot get through a Southern summer without at least 10,000 storms tearing down tree limbs, knocking out power, and generally misbehaving all over the place. Most people would probably find this annoying, but I think it’s cozy. If I’d been raised in a different climate, I might feel the same way about snow storms: I mean, I know plenty of Godless Northerners who love curling up in front of the fire with a cup of cocoa and a good book while the wind howls and the skies spit frozen water. Me? I love curling up in front of a cold-air vent, iced sweet tea clutched in one hand and a good book in the other. Or I might stand at the window and watch God’s wrath unfold upon a trembling earth. It’s a toss-up.
Thunderstorms have always featured in my life: one of my earliest and strongest memories is knowing that if it did look like it was gonna rain, I better run for the house. But if I was somehow caught too far away from my own front door to make it in time, it was best to stay away from trees and throw myself on the ground. “Lightning always goes for the tallest thing around,” my parents both told me, “so DO NOT BE THE TALLEST THING AROUND. And don’t be anywhere near the tallest thing, either.”
Well, I never had to take their advice; I always managed to make it inside in time, so it was all academic to me. But I’m thinking it wasn’t for my precious Ollie, because while Mimi doesn’t react to storms at all, Oliver goes from this:
To this:
He always tries to make himself the smallest, lowest-to-the-ground thing possible. If I pick him up, it feels like he’s somehow increasing gravity so that he’s sucked back towards the floor. He always makes for the lowest floor available: if not the basement, then the ground floor–I have never, ever seen him make it through a storm on the upper level. He’s completely terrified from beginning to end:
And nothing I do–petting, treats, prayers to various deities–makes any difference. He just cowers until it’s over. My poor baby.
Man, I hope Tucson doesn’t have so many thunderstorms…
Aww, poor Ollie. Stella hides under the bed when the thunder gets bad.
And Mimi just sits there and smirks. The shit.
Tucson? Thunderstorms?
Consider the National Weather Service page on the yearly monsoon in Tucson. Srsly.
http://www.wrh.noaa.gov/twc/monsoon/rainfall.php
I prefer to live my life in JOYOUS IGNORANCE.
…seriously, people have already told me tons of horrible things about the wildlife. I just don’t know if I could handle the weather right now.
aw, poor bb. i can even kind of tell he’s all fluffed up and unhappy in those last 2. looking handsome in that first one, though.
He can’t help being gorgeous. It just comes natural.
Normally we have loads in monsoon season, but it’s been very weird the past couple years and we’ve hardly had any. Also monsoon will basically be over by August which iirc is when you’re moving.
Thank God. We had another one the night before last and on top of all the people traipsing through the house (we’re selling it), I really thought Oliver was going to lose it. Poor baby…
If you DO get stuck in the cold I would recommend glögg if you like sweet drinks.
http://goscandinavia.about.com/od/restaurantsdining/r/gloggrecipe.htm