Light Show

I woke to a tremendous light show. Our bedroom has just two small windows but still the room was, at odd intervals, lit up like Times Square. Weird.

At first I was all what the fuck is happening? Is there some big ass truck shining it's lights on and off in time to The Beastie Boys' Fight for Your Right? Why, dammit? Has one of the neighbors set up Hollywood opening style Klieg lights? What the hell is wrong with these people—it's not even 4AM! Assholes!

The flashes of bright, white light were mega disorienting, especially when not fully awake and without the accompanying, orienting sound of thunder. I miss those fat booms (OK, unsurprising truth, I miss most aural crap) A good, big thunderstorm—sound and vision—is a beautiful experience. Well, it is as long as you’re inside and have a good bolt-hole anyway.

My sweet tuxes were, of course, totally freaked. Rocco was hiding out deep in the far, unreachable recesses of our closet. Coco, surprisingly, wasn’t holed up under the couch (her usual thunderstorm shelter). Instead, I found her on the stairs, headed, at speed, to our bedroom. She knows this is Rocco’s hang and normally avoids the place like Manhattanites shunning the boroughs. I scooped her up, held my poor quaking little girl tight, and took her to bed...where she stayed for, mebbe, all of a minute. Coco decided that her safe place was in our bedroom doorway—close to the sleeping TAB  and me but not so near that she’d run into that ruffian, Rocco.

Cats!