Our house was not completely flooded. We really have nothing
to complain about, in comparison to the hundreds of people in Eastern Ontario
and Western Quebec who have lost everything in the rain and floods these past
few weeks. But we did get some water in the basement. It wouldn’t have had the chance to cause any
damage, if we had only listened to the cats.
Sheila the housecat doesn’t really like people. She pretends
to be friendly if she hears cellophane or senses that you may be eating cheese,
but she doesn’t really want to be petted. She barely tolerates me. If Sheila’s
food bowl is empty and I am busy making something in the kitchen, she winds
herself around my legs and gives me a quick bite on the calf. She doesn’t have
what you would call a nice disposition.
Still, Sheila has her good qualities. She played surrogate
mom to all those kittens I nabbed from the barn and brought into the house to
wean and adopt out. When their new families came to pick them up, she followed
them to the door one by one and when they left she sat at my feet and
complained.
Today, whenever we are sitting watching TV in the evenings
she pulls one of her kitten-sized toys out of the basement and sings to it,
loudly. This is quite regular behaviour for her, and it goes on for about five
minutes. Perhaps I should have paid closer attention when it went on for more
like half an hour one night last week. But I was watching the season finale of
Outlander and didn’t want to be interrupted.
When I finally got up to see what the heck Sheila was
hollering about, I found her sitting at the top of the basement stairs with
about six toys around her. They appeared to be wet. I flicked the light on and
peered down the stairs. Sure enough, the floor was covered in water. Ugh.
A quick investigation by the Farmer confirmed that the hose
used to drain condensation from our furnace was blocking the sensor ball on the
sump pump, so it wasn’t able to switch on when the water level got too high.
Water had seeped out of the workshop area of the basement to soak the carpet in
the next room. The parquet floor in the spare bedroom will likely have to be
ripped out and replaced also.
I spent the next few days sopping up wet cat litter and
carrying soggy boxes of baby clothes upstairs to be dried and repacked. I will
be investing in some waterproof boxes for storage in the future. Maybe some
that can float.
The cats’ litter and food had to be moved upstairs to the
bathroom for a few days while the water dried up. That gave them free run of
the house during the night, which they truly loved. I could hear them ripping
up and down the stairs after each other when I was supposed to be asleep.
You would think we had learned our lesson, but, no. A few
days later, it happened again. Sheila tried to tell me. I was sitting on the couch
reading a book and she attempted, unsuccessfully, to launch herself up into my
lap. She almost never does this, and hasn’t tried in years. I laughed when she
misjudged the distance to the couch and fell over. Sheila walked away,
dejected. She was back a few minutes later with a wet cat toy. That got my
attention. The sump had failed again.
I suspect we will be checking that mechanism more often on
rainy days, and perhaps investing in a battery-operated backup system. The
Farmer is cutting the carpet up into manageable pieces that can be lifted up
the basement stairs and out onto the back deck for disposal. It is a mess, and
our basement smells a bit like a wet sock, but it’s nothing like what the
owners of truly flooded homes are dealing with.
Last year the drought had us using up our hay months ahead
of schedule, because nothing was growing in the pasture. This year we are starting
the cattle on pasture early, because of the rain. You never know what you are
going to get, but from now on I’m paying attention to the animals. They seem to
know what’s up.
Email: dianafisher1@gmail.com
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