Milton the Blind Rat

Most of what remained of my yarn stash was lost after Hurricane Ian in 2022. This was not directly caused by storm damage, but the result of rats escaping the floodwater by moving into my shed. I can't blame a living creature for trying to survive, but I will never understand why they chose to chew through plastic storage totes and destroy my supplies instead of nesting in anything else in the shed.

Even though there is no longer any shed-stash to worry over, there was recently another hurricane. And this brings us to the story of Milton the Blind Rat and My Two Cats.

(This story will be a bit long, so I've included a TL;DR paragraph in bold about halfway down, just look for the next picture of Milton the Blind Rat. And there's a second TL;DR after the cat pictures.)

Many emotions surfaced in the days leading up to Hurricane Milton. Uncertainty: Will we be in the path of the storm? Anxiety: The cone of projection is moving closer and closer. Fear: We will be in the path. Confidence: We've been through this before. We know what to do.

Panic: It just blew up to a CAT 5. What the hell are we going to do? Frustration: It's two days before the storm and everybody already hoarded all the gas and water. Humor: Why is all the milk gone? Who is stocking up on milk before a hurricane?

Fear became a constant underlying emotion as Milton's path dropped south. Awareness: Even if it drops strength like they predict, there's no way I can leave my cats outside. Doubt: Can I get everything ready in time? Anger: As usual, Rip van Winkle is unable to help with preparation because people are still pouring concrete the day before a hurricane. Despair: The generator won't start.

Alertness: I need to work on getting the cats inside now. Anything else can be done later. Exhaustion: It took eight hours to catch one of the cats. Irritation: My arms look like I got into a fight with a barbwire fence. That was not done by the wild cat.

Acceptance: I've done as much as I can do. The generator is running again. Everything that needs to be tied down or stored away is secured. Electricity to the shed has been turned off. Rain has already been a constant feature during the past two days of preparation.

The wind is getting stronger. Tornado warnings are setting off alerts on our phones more frequently. The water is rising. It is now too dangerous to go outside.

Ha, who are we kidding? This is Florida, after all. There was quite a few people driving golf carts and four wheelers down the street. A giant swamp buggy rode by with a keg of beer strapped to the back. And even I, a mostly sensible person, ran out in the middle of 40 MPH gusts to move my piece of Toyota closer to Rip's truck.

It was totally safe, I swear. I wore my camo so Milton couldn't see me. The wind was driving a bunch of twigs and cones from a nearby pine tree straight into the Chevy, and it was already parked on the highest ground available. My truck has more clearance than his, plus a Toyota paint job, so I can park in deeper water and I don't care if it gets scratched.

That totally justifies risking my life because auto insurance is getting too expensive. But, I guess at least we have more money to pay for the auto insurance since we can't get homeowner's insurance anymore. Yay, Florida things!

The sun began to set. The water continued to rise. Cooking a quick dinner is cathartic. A normal daily task is a welcome distraction from the anxiety. But still, every gust of the wind leaves me hoping: Please don't let the power go out yet. I just want one more normal meal before whatever happens.

How high will the water get? Will the windows be okay? Will the roof hold? Gratitude: Not only did I get that meal, but I even got the dishes washed. Now, I'm ready for whatever.

Annoyance: Being ready for whatever would be a lot more fun if I didn't have to listen to the constant sawmill of Rip van Winkle's snoring in between blaring weather alerts from three devices. At least we still have electricity so I can catch the news.

I get to watch for a little less than an hour. The power goes out. Exasperation, temporarily. The portable radio is already set up, so at least I can listen to the news. Rage: the radio can't pick up the signal for the station that broadcasts the news.

Numbness: The wind roars outside. Rip van Winkle roars from the couch. I'm not sure which is louder. The rafters creak above me as I pace the house while clinging to my radio, seeking through stations to find anything that isn't a local country music station. Static, snore, static, woosh, static, snore, static, rumble...

Finally, the news! The eye of the storm is near. Crouched in a corner in the back of the house, fixated on any information I can get, I don't realize that one of the roaring sounds had stopped. The eye of the storm is passing directly to our north...

Disbelief: I did not just hear the sound of my screen door. Did the storm rip open my screen door, or did my husband wake up and walk right outside in the middle of a hurricane? Another weather alert blasts from the phones.

I hear the meteorologist in the background as I go to investigate the door... "People in (MY AREA) need to take cover, a tornado is headed your way right now. We're not talking about a potential tornado here folks; we are currently tracking a confirmed tornado on the ground. You need to seek shelter immediately."

ABSOLUTE FEAR: Yes, my dumbass husband has gone outside in the middle of a hurricane, in the path of a tornado, because he woke up from his nap and needed to go smoke a cigarette. (He's not even a real Florida Man, he's a transplant from up north.) And I reserve the right to openly call him a dumbass for that, because it was really not smart.

(I mean for going out in a hurricane, not for moving to Florida, but some might say both.)

Unexplained strength: He's just standing there, watching the trees bending sideways as I fling open the door and yank the Yankee back in the house by his shirt, cigarette and all. Something that sounds like an air raid siren is getting closer. He asks something like "what are you doing", but I can't really hear him over the wind and me yelling "tornado, tornado, TORNADO, TORNADO" as I'm struggling with the door.

I manage to pull the screen door shut, but can't push the main door closed against the wind. Mumbling around the cigarette in his mouth, Not-Florida-Man is like "oh, what's the matter, you can't close it?" and finally puts his weight in just as the house shakes as if it was hit by a truck.

Seething rage: Now I have a house full of cigarette smoke and I can't open the windows. He's already snoring again after declaring "it wasn't a tornado". Maybe I should have left him on the porch. I create a makeshift air filter out of some damp paper towels and a battery powered fan.

I realize my cats must be awfully bored, being locked in a tiny bathroom when they're used to having their own house. So by light of a lantern, I dig out some yarn scraps and set to making them a toy. A simple ball will do, right?

(TL;DR: Hurricanes suck. Lots of work to do before. Brought cats inside. Lots of rain and wind happened during storm. Had to pull Rip van Winkle out of a tornado. No electricity after. Now, crochet a cat toy by lantern light while Rip van Winkle snores some more.)

I didn't care what color it would be, so I just grabbed whatever looked like enough yarn to make a ball. I think I used a 4MM hook. Beginning with a circle of twelve half-double crochet, increasing by twelve in the next round, increase by six for the third round and work even for each after the fourth.

I was suddenly inspired to make something other than just a ball. I worked even for a few more rounds, until it seemed like a good size to start tapering off. I think that was about three more rounds. I then decreased by six each round using double crochet-two-together (dc2tog) until it was too small to work around. Stuffed with poly fill, then sewed the remaining stitches closed.

So, what do we have now, an egg? This is a boring toy. It needs a tail! I began with a chain of too many, and worked three single crochet in each stitch to make a fun spiral. (A chain of five or six would have made a long-enough tail, I think I worked about ten.) I used the yarn tails to attach this piece to the body, and then used the scraps cut from those to create the whiskers.

Next, I sat and laughed for a while. It's a really good thing that I added those whiskers! Then again, it still kind of looks like a sperm with whiskers. I did my best to smush it into a more "mouse" shape. Eyes would help, but I was tired of working by lamplight and decided to not bother with adding eyes.

Due to the too-long tail and resemblance to something else, I decided that Milton here actually needed to be less round. So I smushed him the other way, and told myself that there are blind mice, so there can be blind rats as well.

Wild Thing looks like she hates Milton the Blind Rat, but that's just how she looks whenever she sees me. I'm also aware that there is no chance of Wild playing in front of me. She's about six years old now, and I still can't convince her that I'm not trying to kill her.

No worries, the other cat won't give me much of a chance to interact with her because he's a big jealous baby. At least I finally got a picture of her! She's usually hiding under a bush or in a box in her house.

Of course I only had about ten seconds to get that photo before Pendejo jumped in the way. Don't worry, Wild! He'll save you from attention by a human... err, I mean, that rat! Mira, es un rata! La matare!

Ataque, ataque! Pendejo enjoys his freedom even more than Wild, so I told him that he can take his frustration out on Milton. Si estas enojado, esto te hara sentir mejor! He did.

Wild and Pendejo have been a really good match together. She's never been friendly with any other cat, and once he adopted me he became very territorial. Despite their behavior towards any other cats, they warmed up to each other immediately.

I know she enjoys playing, because each morning I watch from my porch as they chase each other around their house. But I've never been able to get her to play with anything other than a three-foot long piece of grass. That is, until she realizes that I'm attached to the other end. Then she's back in the bushes.

Pendejo loves attention from me, but he's not big on playing. His favorite things in life are lounging in the sun, getting his claws on random neighborhood cats, and food. Mucho comida. I wasn't expecting him to be the first to attack poor Milton, but I'm not surprised that Wild won't play. She hates me and she's not coming out of that box. I'm sure she'll play when I leave.

I caught her looking at it! You know she wants to play. Okay, so it looks more like she's giving Pendejo that look that says "why are you interacting with a human?", but I like to think she wants to play.

And then he licked my phone. Why? Por que haces eso, amigo? He seemed like he was now determined to get in the way of any good photos, so Milton became an afterthought. One more time of checking out the new toy, then he went to find mas comida, more food.

Look, Wild is watching through the mirror. She doesn't like to make eye contact, but I catch her looking at me sometimes, probably just plotting my murder. Or is she interested in Milton?

There seems to be a little less hate and a bit more interest in those eyes. Or am I just hopeful?

SO. MUCH. HATE. I never bother her. I've always given her plenty of space, never forced attention on her, just give her food and catnip and space. I always thought she'd warm up over time.

It makes me quite sad that she'll never at least trust me, so I gently offered Milton the Blind Rat as a symbol of peace and left the room while Pendejo was still burying his face in the food bowl. She did seem interested while he was playing. Maybe she'll jump right on it after getting into some of the catnip I also gave her.

And, she peed on it. She defiled poor Milton the Blind Rat! At least he never saw it coming.

Next time, if there is one, I should wear gloves while crocheting a toy for a cat that hates me.

Pendejo will have to make do with empty paper towel tubes to entertain the empty space between his ears. At least this helped me put two and two together: I gave her an old pillow of mine once, I thought it would make a nice bed in her house. She peed on it. I used an old shirt for some winter bedding, same thing happened.

I've had her inside for other storms, and she's always very polite about using a litter box. I always thought she was mistaking soft things for a place to potty... It never occurred to me that she's only peeing on things that have my smell. This cat hates me so much that she's literally saying "piss on you!" and I finally get it.

We made it through the hurricane with no real damage to the house. Some of the lattice around the porch came loose a little. It's still up there, I just have to put some new screws in. A tree fell on top of our septic tank, but thankfully caused no damage. The water didn't get as high as it did during Ian, so the shed never flooded and (so far) I don't think we have more rats.

The power was only off for three full days, not counting the night of the storm or the day they got us hooked back up. There were a lot of interruptions for a few days while they had to shut us back off to fix something else down the line. Overall, it wasn't too bad considering how close the eye had been and the amount of tornados throughout the day and night.

However, the Cat's Castle didn't fare as well. The storm tore most of the sheet metal off the back wall and damaged the roof. Wild had to stay in my house for fourteen days while we rebuilt the pen.

On the day before it was finished, she escaped the bathroom while Pendejo parked his fat butt in the middle of the doorway. I'm pretty sure it was an organized effort. I managed to trap her in the other bathroom. I moved the cat carrier in there, because she always hides in it when she sees me. This will be easy, right?

And it was. Yet when it was time to move them back outside the next day, she would no longer hide in the carrier. She hid in the tub. She squeezed behind the toilet. Back into the tub. Rip van Winkle claims he can get her in there... Go ahead!

He comes out ten minutes later... She won't stop hiding in the litter box. Ha ha! But he did finally get her in there, and she couldn't have been happier when she was let back "outside" into her house... Until she saw me again.

(TL;DR2: Crocheted a cat toy. Survived Milton the Hurricane. Milton the Blind Rat didn't survive the cat's wrath. Rebuilt cat pen. All is well again.)

Milton the Blind Rat was given a soak in some vinegar, then washed with some unscented soap. I left him in the Cat Castle overnight, and returned to find him dusted with catnip and moved to the other side of the pen. I'll probably never see the things that happen to him. Then again, neither will he.