We're not in Massachusetts anymore

I snoozed right through the lightning and the thunder, but at 3:30 last night I woke up instead to the Dog Alarm.
This wasn’t Mamie’s nightly dream of small yips and imaginary running, but wide-awake muffled barking. Up on the bed she came, and started her blanket-shredding dig for China. She finally settled down a bit, but then I heard a warning alarm of beeps from the living room, possibly from our TV cable box.

          Storm system Nester was raging across the Gulf Coast, but it really just looked like a thunderstorm outside.  Still, I fetched my phone to see what was up. 

          Okaaay. So what to do? We’re in the middle unit, bottom floor, of a 12 unit building composed not of wood framing, but cinderblock. Our building’s only 3 years old and has hurricane-code windows and sliders.

          I pictured us where we probably should be, in the bathroom, which sits windowless in the middle of our condo. How long was this going to last? Would we be sitting on the tile floor for the next, what?, two hours? three hours?

          I made a mental note to grab the quilt if we had to decamp, put my phone on the nightstand, my purse (with car keys, ID, and cash) near the bathroom door and snuggled back into bed, Mamie tucked in between us.

          (Although my title is misleading since even after living in Oklahoma for three years, the only tornado I’ve ever experienced was in Western Massachusetts.)