As you enter our apartment, the kitchen and the laundry room are on the left. Pass the dining room, turn left at George’s study, go down the halls fifteen feet and enter my study. That’s where I was sitting, writing a blog post, when Scooter dashed in. “There’s something wrong here,” he yowled. Well, actually, he didn’t say a word, he just looked upset and worried. One at a time, he lifted each foot high and shook it. Concerned, I got up and looked into the hall. It was flooded. Toilet, I thought, and dashed into the bathroom. Flooded as well but the toilet was fine. I ran on down the hall, turned, splashed through the rising water, across the dining room, waded through the kitchen and opened the door into the laundry room. The washing machine spouted water like a geyser.
I hit spin to empty the machine and took off to survey the damage. Unimaginable! I started tossing rugs and towels and blankets on the floor. When the thick king-sized blanket hit the water, it landed with resounding splashes and sank below an inch of water. Oh-oh. I threw every blanket, every towel, and every bath mat into the pool, as well as the cat beds, a couple of pot holders and–I hate to admit–the other cat. At that point, I realized I’d never be able to soak the flood up. George called the apartment office and asked for a maintenance man to come by–right now!–with a wet-dry vac. John arrived, looked at the pond, and left He returned minutes later with Jason the carpet guy who’d been working in another apartment. The carpet guy worked for two hours with all his equipment until the water was slurped up from the wood floors and the carpets were drying while three huge fans dried on the carpets and terrified the cats.
I hate to think what would have happened if Scooter hadn’t come in to tell me that there was something terribly wrong. We might have all drowned.
Thank you, Scooter the wonder cat!