Rain, rain, go away

Rain, rain, go away

Come again some other day

It’s raining—again. It seems as if it has been raining for ever.

Of course, that isn’t true. There were a few hours yesterday when there was no rain. There were even a few minutes when the clouds disappeared enough to see the sun. And the good news is that the temperatures may reach 75 F today. Even this morning, as I write this, the temperature is already 70 F. That’s good—many heating bills for this winter have been more than I can afford to pay. What is bad is that Louisville and most of the surrounding counties in Kentucky and Southern Indiana have been under a flood warning since yesterday.

I have a friend who says over and over on rainy days, “I hate the rain.” She spent much of her life living in the Arizona desert, where there is seldom rain. And she reminds me of the first time I visited Arizona to participate in a week-long course to be certified as an Intentional Interim Minister. Because of the difference in time zones, I would awaken much earlier than I needed to be up. I would go outside my room and watch the sun appear over the horizon. The cloudless sky seemed so much bigger than at home. And, on most days, as I looked toward the east, I would see an eagle—also an early riser—circling and sashaying toward me. I remember those days—especially during weeks of clouds and rain such as now.

My friend and I are not the only ones who have an aversion to raining and murky skies. This morning Alex and I were both wakened well before the alarm went off by a thunder clap that seemed to originate just outside our bedroom window. Alex, who had been sleeping at the foot of my bed, scampered to my shoulder and curled himself into the crook of my arm. A few minutes later, as the claps of thunder continued and I decided that I might as well get up, he jumped off the bed before my feet touched the floor. However, Alex did not do his usual morning thing and run to the kitchen to await me by his feeding bowls. He sat beside my bed staring up at me—I assume to make sure that I was up—before he risked going out of sight of me as the thunder continued to pulsate.

By the time Alex finished his breakfast and I was drinking my first cup of coffee, the boom of the thunder had diminished. Alex—as is his habit—stuck his claws into my leg to get my attention and meandered toward the front door. I followed him and opened the red door to the sight and sound of the rain. I stepped out onto the porch, but Alex backed up away from the threshold. As a cat, he has an aversion to water in any form—including rain.

So I came back into the house, turned on my computer, and began writing this blog. A few minutes later, Alex again used his claws—this time on my thigh—to get my attention. I jumped up and asked my feline master, “Now what do you want?” He strolled out of my library, through the kitchen, to the hallway that leads to the back of the house, and stopped by the back door.

“Alex, it is raining in the back yard, too,” I told him.

Of course, being the cat that he is, he didn’t believe me until I opened the door and he saw and heard the rain falling upon the deck. Alex looked up at me and, like my friend who had lived in Arizona, seemed to meow, “I hate the rain.”

And I replied, “I do, too. I am very tired of rainy days.”

Rain, rain, go away

Come again some other day

We want to go outside and play

Come again some other day