In the moments before the storm really hits, that time when the air is
windy, the pressure has dropped, and the thunder can be heard in the
distance, Cubbe becomes clingy. Not normally affectionate, she suddenly
starts acting like a dog. She follows us from room to room. She lies
down next to the bed where we are. When there's no storm, she looks
only to her own comfort and prefers the bottom of the basement stairs or
under the futon or on the living room couch; Never mind where the people
are. With a storm brewing, she's close at hand.


Then the storm rolls in. It rains. It booms. Cubbe is ecstatic. She
can't look out every window at once so she runs around to each in turn
looking out, panting her excited pant (or is it stress?), paying us no
attention and just checking things out.


Afterwards, the smell of skunk is thick. The scent must travel better
because even I can smell it. Cubbe isn't sure she's ever met a skunk,
but she doesn't think she likes them anyway. She becomes the huntress.
She asks to go out so she can check out the territory and hunt skunks.
We think this is a Bad Idea. She begs to differ.


--Lia