I participated in the two-day deluge of rain across Northern Nevada by cursing about water running in where it should not have.
The Truckee River went from rocks rinsed by a garden hose to an actual river, in about four hours. Fast flowing, chocolate water, foam. It's still got water in it today, but a couple feet less.
About two hours after the rain started on Sunday, Charley Le Chat Noir asked for my attention. He's 17 pounds and sounds like a squeeky mouse.
We visited the entry way, where he stared at the ceiling, then at me, then at the ceiling, where rain on the skylight was fast and loud. He accepted my claim that it was all OK.
But a couple hours later, he led me there again, and sniffed a wet spot on the carpet. Yep, the skylight was leaking. Again. After being repaired at least four times.
Out came plastic bowls. By Monday night there was maybe an eighth of an inch of water in them. Peeling paint overhead. Very wet cobwebs.
I was not surprised by water appearing in the garage, since the patio's not properly sloped. There are sand bags, but the friend who moved sand into undamaged bags last month filled three so full that I cannot lift them. They don't lie flat, either. I had to move one to roll out the garbage bin and didn't put it back.
My bad. Lazy, lazy bad.
Someday I have to move the cat carriers off the top of the packing box where the water flow ends to check what's in it. The recently-wet bottom's caving in.
And probably toss out the contents.
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