I am not photogenic. I have a chin in real life that disappears in photos. I am so pale, my skin is actually translucent – but not in that pretty way that they describe in books. And I am awesomely talented when it comes to making a stupid face or closing one eye just as the shutter clicks.
Before you continue, I want you to go and look at the photos on Val Rothwell Photography. I want you to see the adorable dogs. The cute babies. The beautiful families. She captured them all.
So this is not her fault.
Will Obi look at the camera for me? For Val?
Not gonna happen.
Fine. What? The Girl looks stupid?
By the way, MY eyes were open in all of these until THIS one.
I’m outta here.
This is not okay.
Despite our very best efforts, Val DID manage to get a shot about which I’m not completely mortified. Sure, Obi is in a headlock and I’m wearing a shirt for which I should lose my degree in public relations (seriously, photog101 says that pattern is a no no), but we’re looking toward the camera. Ish.
I’d tell you that you should take all your cats to Val for a portrait, but I heard her confide that every time she donates a pet portrait session to a Cheyenne Animal Shelter fundraiser she prays for a dog owner. So do that. Take your dog.
I’ve been planning a blog post all day in my head. Then this happened.
It took me twice as long as usual to drive home. For one thing, I could barely see. For another, people were making questionable shelter choices. Like the idiot who decided to wait out the storm in an underpass – next to an already flooded drainage – because he didn’t want hail to hit his precious Hummer. And a whole bunch of people parking under our 100 year old cottonwood trees that drop branches on a sunny day. Um, no. I kept going.
The result of the storm was about 100 dimples (Divots? Dents? Horrific canyons?) in my hood and on the roof of my car. And three places where pieces of my car are actually missing. Sigh. But it makes a good story.
After arriving home and sitting in the driveway waiting for the hail to at least get smaller than ping pong balls, I finally made it into the house. Kitten Thunder met me at the door. Oliver was fuh-reaking out. He wanted to be held. Obi wanted to show me what was happening on OutTV.
The storm passed and The Boy got home so we ventured out to see the damage. There’s a lot, but other than our cars there’s nothing valuable that is lost. I was a week away from peas and tomatoes…not so much any more. Oliver was NOT happy that we were in the Out. To calm him, I went inside and turned on the TV.
That’s when the TV flashed a tornado warning. I tried to get The Boy, but he was down the block. I sent him a text. Not too worried – the funnel clouds were to the east – I turned and looked at Kitten Thunder. “You want to go downstairs, boys?”
Yes. They did.
Once I was settled in a chair and watching, coincidentally, a program on the Weather Channel about storm chasers in Wyoming, Oliver paced between me and the bottom of the stairs. The Boy arrived. Oli was content.
For the next 20 minutes, Kitten Thunder tried to convince us they needed to be airbrushed. Of course my camera was upstairs so I don’t have the very cute picture of them sitting together in the paint station. I’m pretty sure that’s why they did it.
The TV continued to beep in with warnings of flash flooding, tornadoes and severe thunderstorms. The watches and warnings are pretty common here on the high plains and most people I know were probably outside looking at the weather. But Oli doesn’t know that. So he did what the TV said and went to take shelter in his windowless box in an interior room. I also don’t have a picture of that.
Things are calm now. We have occasional big rain. Obi caught a miller moth. The Boy is reading in the living room. And Oliver is passed out from the effort of being a nervous grey kitten who is in charge of keeping the household safe.