It was a dark and stormy night. Well, it was dark, and a wind can come from a windstorm so, yes, it was a dark and stormy night.
In southern Alberta, especially in Lethbridge, the wind blows quite a bit. Though days with sixty mile per hour winds are not common, neither are they so rare as to excite much comment. But now and then, there is a windstorm that causes a lot of noise. The night can become blustery; it is probably the sudden gusts that cause the most trouble.
The cats are used to southern Alberta weather. The wind doesn’t bother them very much; they grew accustomed to the noises of an apartment building - people using the stairs, people across the alley fixing their cars, showers running somewhere. But when the night grows gusty, the beasts become a bit alarmed.
I don’t think they are frightened, but they are wary. Their attention is commanded more often and to a great degree. When I went to bed Sunday night, Renn joined me right away, which he always does. Josie lie down next to me soon afterward, and it normally takes her some time to do so. Tucker waddled in and climbed the steps to the bed before I fell asleep; he usually takes his place much later in the night. Cammie too retreated to the bedroom, taking her position on her cat-tree. There was apparently strength in numbers this night.
Our apartment is a snug little refuge. The windows are relatively new, and seal well, which is good, as they face west, the direction from which the wind predominates. The heating is efficient. And there is a human to which the cats look for protection. They think of us in the same way little children think of their parents: all powerful, the purveyors of all that is good, the dispensers of punishment, those who keep them safe. We can’t do all that they think, of course, but when the wind howls and the temperature drops, it’s nice to be able to provide them with peace of mind. It’s a fair trade: they do the same for me.