Did I see Spot before I left? I don’t remember… "Is it the fence?" I called, hoping it was that and not a dead cat which had put that tone in his voice. "No, just come look…" I went upstairs, and our back yard looked like it had been hit by a bomb. The table and chairs, previously near the back of the house, had been thrown to the other side of the pool – and some of the chairs were resting atop the pool cover. The Rubbermaid storage closet, which had been reinforced by wire when Fred put it together, and had been resting against the back of the house, was in pieces near the table and chairs. The huge faux-clay planter (thermolite? is that what that stuff’s called?) had broken into several pieces, which were laying in various spots around the back yard. If we hadn’t had a fence, no doubt we’d be needing to buy a whole new supply of backyard items. A tornado never did touch down in the area (at least, not yet), and after the weather calmed down some, Fred and I went for a drive, exclaiming over the downed trees all over the place. We were lucky enough to have not lost any of our shingles or shutters, or – thankfully – any cats (Spot was hiding under the bed with Mr. Fancypants). A year ago yesterday, I said this in my journal: You know, in Maine we never had to worry about tornadoes coming from out of nowhere and snatching up our houses and cars. The worst I recall dealing with in Maine were the occasional ice storms. Ice storms don’t whisk your home away, you know. Ain’t that the truth. —–]]>