Anecdotally, it's more of a cat thing, lots of cats hiding under couches across the city.


I watched the storm Saturday night with some friends and my cat who was really not bothered by the thunder. I really wish we had more storms like that.


Any chance we can remove the even more atrocious blob with a glowing orange toupee that is currently illegally stinking up the White Trash House and soon?


So how long until Trump looks into the possibility of nuking the blob?


@1 A lot of Seattle pussies under couches I imagine.


As an Iowan, I was pleased as punch by Saturday night’s deluge and light show. Our livestock ran the gamut from completely oblivious (our elderly lady Dachsund), to mildly annoyed (our middle-aged male Dachsund) to wanting to go outside and dance in the rain (our youngish Bichon Frise).

Pet ownership tip: animals take their clues from us. If we don’t freak out, they probably won’t freak out (the same can be said for child rearing)


We were hoping Trump would go outside with his weather-correcting Sharpie during the thunderstorm- but alas! didn't work.


I think mountains retard their development also.


@7 pat L: Actually, during the recent Saturday night thunderstorms, I was watching Bill Murray movies, wishing that Trumpty Dumpty could morph into Bishop Bickering at stogy Bushwood Country Club (in Caddyshack). And then the world might be saved by the following series of events:
Trump (as Bickering, to groundskeeper Carl Speckler, as the thunder, lightning, and rainfall intensify on the golf course): Well, what do you think, fella?
The Great Mr. Bill, reprising his class role of Carl Speckler): I'd keep playing. I don't think the heavy stuff's going to come down for quite a while.
Trump (as Bickering): And anyway--the Good Lord Sharpie would never disrupt the best game of my LIFE!
Amazingly, on they go to finish the nine holes through buckets of rain, thunder, lightning, and hurtling winds. Finally, they are at the final hole. Trump (as Bickering) misses the shot, and angrily cries out, "Ohhh, Ruth Bader Ginsburg!", to which he is simultaneously zapped by a lightning bolt, and swallowed up in one gulp by an alligator suddenly rising up form the muck.
There may not be a God--thus the current Err of Trump----but we are blessed with Supreme Court Justice, Ruth Bader Ginsburg.

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