If you live there long enough, you'll become one of them

Finally a new Monday Mayberry Moment -after weeks of nothing.  And this week's Moment tells on ourselves, which I guess makes it twice as hilarious.

In preparation for the hurricane we did something pretty common, filled our bathtub with water.  This is so if the power should go out we'll have water to flush the toilet and maybe for washcloth baths.  We have a big garden tub in our Master Bath, so we figured that would be plenty.  After all, we'd never lost power for more than maybe an hour.  Then the dire predictions of power out for the interim of the storm came across the radio waves.

Hubby took our smallest trash can, the 55 gallon wheeled one, washed and filled it with the garden hose.  Figuring we wouldn't be able to go out in the storm for water, he wheeled it into the master bath.  A little later we were sitting around in our Plywood-covered-windows darkened living room, when we heard a bang.  I ran to see what it was.

A little background here for the uninitiated:  We have a 17 year old cat who has bladder control problems.  Due to her frequent accidents, she is kept in the (large) master bath where the tile is far easier to clean than wall to wall carpeting.  To give her air circulation, we've created a sort of dutch door with a piece of plywood which sits right into the frame of the pocket door on our master bath.  It's just high enough that she can't jump out and just low enough that we can check on her, throw treats in for her and allow air circulation.

So when I got to the bathroom, the trash can had tipped over (apparently the sloped design that allows for the wheels, also made it top heavy once water was in it), kitty was crying, her litter box floating on six inches of water.  Believe it or not, the dutch door was actually holding most of the water in there.  BUT I didn't realize that.  I immediately whipped open the plywood door and the water began pouring out onto my winter white berber carpeting.

I just started screaming, "HONEY QUICK!  HONEY QUICK!  COME!"  After what seemed like forever he came into the master bedroom and seemed to have no more idea about what to do than did I.  Kitty was still crying.  He grabbed the dust pan and started scooping the water into the toilet.  We couldn't see where kitty was, but assumed she was hiding scared.

Kitty stopped meowing.  I started calling her and she wasn't responding.  I told him, "Where's kitty?"  He, angry, said, "Forget it now.  She gotta be dead."  I started crying and went running into lakeland AKA the master bath.  I found Kitty happily floating in her litter box (it's one of those covered ones) and dry as could be.

I began dragging out old towels and eventually old blankets to clean up all the water. 

To be continued...