It’s Like if Shit Hit a Fan…

…but the Fan’s a Wind Turbine and the Shit’s a Lot of Shit July has been a motherfucker of a month, y’all. I say that in full recognition of the fact that we’re only one week into it. We’re doing our best to hold stuff down. It’s getting easier, but it isn’t quite easy yet. As I stepped out of work on Tuesday, the second of July, I got a call from my wife. Our second-oldest cat, Maria, was throwing up blood. At seventeen-years-old, this wasn’t something particularly unexpected. She came into our lives at the feral end of the How Much Does This Cat Like People bell curve. She was found under a porch with her litter mates and taken in by an animal rescue outfit. The poor brown tabby was around six-months-old, riddled with ear mites and underweight. We figured that she probably wouldn’t be around long, but …

Chapter 1 of Recovery Efforts

The sound of boots crunching over broken concrete and distorted steel reinforcements was largely lost in the ambient cacophony. On all sides there was the clatter of rubble as shattered bits of buildings playfully chased one another down cracks and crevices in pursuit of gravity. Somewhere underneath the new landscape, the horns of a handful of automobiles played a tuneless fanfare to usher the sun behind the horizon once more. A betting pool had opened up among the rescue teams regarding how long it would take for the batteries to run out…