Zoe Saves the Day
¡Hola, mi amigos y amigas—saludos! I just love saying “Hello – Greetings!” in Spanish to my boy friends and girl friends. I want to tell you about an adventure where Yours Truly was a hero. I guess the correct word is heroine, but, same difference. Before I tell you all about it, let me introduce myself to those who may not know me. My name is Zoe. I live with Emily, and she is lucky to have me. Here’s what happened.
It was a hot New England night. It was not raining, but we were hearing the deep rumble of thunder and experiencing the occasional flash of dry lightning—that’s what they call the lightning that you get during a heat wave, you know, when the rain is still very far off in the distance. It was beautifully fierce. Unlike some, who shall go unnamed, the thunder didn’t scare me one bit. In fact, I was lying in my cat hammock on the large ledge of the bay window, rocking gently back and forth, just chilling out . . . oh, alright. So I don’t have a cat hammock. Yet. I’m working on it, though.
Anyway, as I was saying, I was sitting on the sill, watching the light show and listening to Mother Nature’s rock and roll song. My human was listening to some other song, and I heard the words “stormy weather.” I remember wondering how obvious could one human be? But it did add a certain je ne sais quoi to the evening. That’s French for “a certain something but I don’t know what,” but the something is of a pleasing quality. I wish I knew how to convey that thought in Spanish instead. If anyone can tell me the Spanish equivalent of je ne sais quoi, I’d be ever so grateful!
Sorry, I am digressing terribly, I know. Emily says I have ADD; she should know.
Now where was I? Oh yes, the night of The Storm. Suddenly, the biggest bolt of lightning I’ve ever seen lit up the sky. The sharp “thwack!” of its hitting something made me shake. Not in fear, mind you. The lightning strike was so strong that it made my body actually shake. A few minutes later, I noticed something orange flickering on the rooftop of a house one street over from ours. I could see only the very top ridge of the roof but that was enough! I meowed like crazy; as if our lives depended on it; it looked like somebody’s might. Emily had heard the lightning, too, and came running into the room, joining me at the window. I looked up at her and then over toward that house. I pawed at the window, but she didn’t understand. I kept at it, pawing the window, looking at her, then out the window and back to her again. Finally, she understood; she followed my stare and saw it.
“Oh no!” she cried. She ran to the phone and dialed 911. The firefighters arrived very quickly. I watched through the front door screen as Emily talked to them. I could see her frantically pointing in the general vicinity of the lightning strike. They couldn’t see it, at least not from our front sidewalk, so she invited them into our front room—we live in a raised ranch so she figured that would be a better vantage point—and pointed out the bay window.
“There,” she said, as she pointed at the orange flame flickering atop the neighbor’s roof. “Right there, behind that house! Can’t you see it?”
The young men started to chuckle, which we did not understand at all. Then they burst out laughing.
“Do you mean that streetlight?”
Well, needless to say, Emily was mortified, as well she should have been. Imagine making that kind of mistake! She apologized every which way to the young men and one woman who had rushed to our rescue, saying something about “old eyes.”
But all I have to say is this: If that streetlight had been a fire, I definitely would have been a hero. I mean, heroine.