If we were ducks then the weather would be fine. Were we slugs, snails, toads or frogs we would be dancing. But we are cats and cats like the sun. So we sit and curl together in the devastation of the up-turned house and listen, and wait.
It is dark, like twilight. Heavy rain beats the house and the wind cat howls and lashes claws and tail and spitting anger in a maelstrom torrent of tumbled water that falls through the roof, that runs down the stairs, that drip drip drips in puddled circles on the floor.