Up in Smoke

Be assured, the cats and I are all well, but last night there was a fire in one of the basement storage rooms (potentially ours, I have no idea which room we're in, and Rod can't remember), which I nearly slept through, if not for a freaked out Purrball. After giving my disoriented head a shake, I thought it was just another stupid something/nothing, and got up to turn off the computer. I wandered over to the kitchen window, and looked down to see 3 fire trucks and the police had totally blocked off Grange at Willingdon. Then I smelled what can only be described as wet, smoky, burning...lunch meat.

I scrambled to grab the kitties' travel cases, and had to lure the kitties out from hiding to get them into their cages. They were terrified. Max hid in the back of his cage, while Purrball howled her little lungs out. I live on the 23rd floor...24 storeys up. Alone, it's a challenge...with two heavy boxes full of screaming cat, it's a fucking gong show.

After I got to the bottom, I was on the phone with Jette making plans to flee to her house if we weren't going to be allowed back in for a long while, but that wasn't necessary, after a half-hour of being down there (I honestly don't know how long the alarm went before I woke up), they let us back in, and I had to wait about 10 minutes for an elevator.

In the midst of the chaos, Rod called from Australia, and I had to relate the whole mess to him, breathlessly. It was well after midnight when I finally got to bed. Had to calm the cats down, talk to Rod again, come down from the adrenaline high, and then drag my sore, tired ass to bed. Today, I'm sooooooo tired and sore.

Stairs kill.