CANINE VIEW OF KATRINA

We had no reliable information from the outside. Sure there was the beat up battery operated radio they listened to at night. And solely at night. They only seemed able to hear, to bear the bad stories when nothing could be done – curfew seemed to suspend time, action; decisions needn’t be made then. Their rations of warm wine calmed them and so they ate then, during the only time they could keep it down. We watched and ate as often as they fed us. Sure we were scared but had we stopped eating they would have panicked. If doctors were in short supply then surely the same held for veterinarians.
Why they chose to stay was beyond us. We knew it was gonna be bad. The birds were the first to tell us. Cautionary tales spread rapid fire through the Quarter. And none so frightening as those told by the rodents. They simply had their ears to ground. Not to mention, being privy to the alligator and reptile community. Early on there was talk of swimming deep into the metro area if the levees broke. Well there ya go – they simply knew it was going to happen.
Food Lady and Food Guy, as we affectionately call them, have two apartments so as to accommodate the feline faction of our family. In case you’ve yet to meet us on these pages before allow me a moment’s interruption to introduce everyone.
First there’s Ginger, my sister the yellow Lab who shares her birthday with me since I was adopted and my birth family is unknown to me. Residing full time at Food Lady’s are Phil, a distinguished gray tabby and Bob, who thinks he’s Fred Astaire just because he’s a long, lean manx sporting a tuxedo coat and is fairly agile – frankly I see no dancing ability. Bob joined the family just months before the storm and quickly endeared himself to everyone – even Pepper.
Pepper, a breathtaking feline beauty, with a cold heart, surprised us with her tolerance (her idea of affection) for Bob. God knows she’s tried to sharpen her claws on me. Ginger is the only one she has ever shown love and she is even rather protective of her. Pepper shares an apartment with Food Guy and Ginger. But since I came on the scene four years ago Ginger and I hang together and find home to be either apartment.
And during all this we had the company of our friend Molly, another Labrador. Her two-legged dad, Galivan, was on vacation when the storm arrived and needless to say he was worried sick. Later into the disaster a grieving family’s only means of escape meant giving Trey, a tiny ten-year-old chihuahua to folks willing to give him safety and love. Many dogs and cats were set loose at the convention center by families desperate to escape. Trey’s family made sure he would live.
Oh, and my name is Rosie. My lineage is varied. I am low to the ground and a bit thick in the middle but with my new diet I am slimming down rather nicely. And my mom, Food Lady, says I have Audrey Hepburn eyes. They do set off my fox toned coat.
Dear, dear, how I do digress. Sorry. I was saying that She (food lady) and He (the food guy) have two apartments in the Quarter and decided that His place would be sturdier if things got dicey. And decidedly dicey they got. As the barometric pressure dropped and the winds picked up we all hunkered down and even the boys became very quiet. Pepper announced a truce and even shared her litter box graciously.
I believed our humans were finally starting to realize the scope of the danger that was blowing into town. She was getting really nervous and He had Her throw a piece of stale french bread out the back door. I don’t think He really believed in the religious lore of blessed bread from a St. Joseph’s Day altar having the power to turn a hurricane away when tossed into the winds – but we learned later that the storm did actually turn east around then. Go figure. I am sure those poor souls in Mississippi were none too happy.
We spent a fitful night into early morning fearing the roof would go but after it passed we breathed, barked and mewed a collective sigh of relief. The cats napped and Ginger, Molly and I accompanied our peeps outside to survey and socialize a bit. While Miss and Mister and all their people talked of dodged bullets, near misses and close calls we sniffed about for some news. And it wasn’t pretty.
In fact it was down right awful. A couple of ferals over on Dumaine claimed to have caught some Lower Ninth rats. The cats released the rodents unharmed after hearing their harrowing tale of near drowning on St. Claude Ave. They spoke of dozens of canines, cats and rodents that didn’t make it out. Then our feral neighbors nodded their heads towards our people and said the humans were drowning too.
It was not until Tuesday morning, a day later, that the word reached our People. They went to bed Monday night thinking the worst was over and recovery ready to begin. Wrong. We listened all through the night as the howls of nearby dogs carried tales too gruesome for the fainthearted.
Those days, six if memory serves, are now a blessed blur except when I dream and embarrass myself by whimpering in the night. What is not blurred are constant stories we continue to hear of animals, some our friends, who died or suffered needlessly. So I am humbled by how blessed we are. Molly was reunited with Gallivan and Trey was adopted almost immediately in Shreveport where we all sought refuge briefly with a family we did not even know – but do now. Thank you David and Ashley.
We made it out and we made it back shaken but safe and this year we have a 1997 reliable evacuation clunker of a van and ya can’t miss it – it’s periwinkle blue and is full of new cages, treats and toys and my very own pillow to sleep on and dreams to replace those whimpering ones of last year.