This story is the property of Yi Ching and was written without the use of AI.

It’s Raining

“It’s sure looks like it’s going to storm,” Mary said to her husband, looking through their kitchen window, trimmed with guazy white curtains that were tied back to the sides of the frame, and out into their side yard where she kept a plot of vegetables.  They lived in a small white bungalow on a half acre lot situated on a side road, optomistically named Third Avenue, coming off Main Street in Praireview, a town of plus or minus two thousand, an hour and a half drive out from the Big City.  Their lot was at the end of the avenue on the edge of the town. 

“Winds’s starting to pick up too,” replied Bob, her husband.  “But there’s been no tornado warning.  Still I’d better bring in the lawn chairs or at least to put them in the tool shed.  Don’t want them blowing around.”  He opened the screen door and crossed the pine boards flooring the front porch.  The floor was painted grey and squeaked as he stepped on it.  There were two varnished wooden rockers on the porch.  After going down two steps to the walkway and out to the yard, Bob began to fold up the aluminum-tubed lounge chairs with green plastic fabric straps.  

Mary went out with him to the front yard and looked up at the sky.  “We could use some rain for the corn.”  There was a patch of corn planted in the side yard along with squash, beans, and lettuce.  Nothing like fresh corn picked and immediately popped into boiling water.  But corn harvest was still a month away.  So rain would be welcome.  Just not too heavy and not too windy.  The wind was from the southwest, and the approaching clouds it carried looked dense and dark, laden with moisture picked up from the warm waters of the Gulf.  “Grass is looking a little dry too,” she noted.  The leaves of the oak tree that had shaded the lawn chairs began to rustle in the wind.

“Won’t have to water if it rains,” Bob replied as he opened the tool shed door and made room for the lawn chairs. “Been a hot, dry summer.  Rain will help cool things down.”  He bolted the shed doors. 

“Let’s go in,” said Mary.  “The storm’s almost here.” 

“You want to sit on the porch and watch it?” asked Bob.

“Not really.  I’ve seen enough storms.  You know I’m afraid of lightning.  But you can.”  They could hear the rumbles approaching.

She went in, leaving Bob sitting in one of the rockers.  “Want some iced tea?” she called after a while from the kitchen.

“Thanks.  I’m good,” he replied.

“Stop bragging,” she joked.

“Good one!”   

Now it was getting darker and the thunder was louder.  Wind and the first drops of rain arrived, fat drops that plopped, spotting the walkway.  Then more arrived, wetting it down and tapping on the roof.   The rain started to blow in on the porch and Bob gave up, opened the screen door and went in.  

“Got to be too much for you?” asked Mary looking up with a smile that said ‘I told you so’ from the chicken parts she was preparing to fricassee for dinner.

“Was getting wet,”  he replied.

Flashes of lightning quickly followed by the boom of thunder.  A steady drumming on the roof.

“I’ll make sure the windows on the south side of the house are closed,” Bob said.

“Thanks.  Good idea.”

There was a thump on the roof.  “What was that?” Mary called out.  Then another heavier one.

“Probably something the wind picked up,” said Bob  from the living room. 

More thumps along with the drumming of the raindrops.

Mary looked out the window into the rain and screamed, “Oh my God!”

Bob came running, “What happened?  Are you okay Mary?”

She pointed out the window, “It’s raining cats and dogs!”

“Yeah,” Bob said, “It’s a hard rain all right.”

“No look,” Mary said.  “It’s really cats and dogs!” 

And indeed, a scattering of cats and dogs of various sizes, colors, and breeds were falling out of the sky along with the raindrops.  As they looked on in awe, they saw Chihuahuas, Siamese, Beagles, Persians, Pugs, Shepards, tabbies, French bulldogs, Burmese, Abyssinians, Poodles, mutts and more landing in their yard.  And all the while they could hear intermittent soft and heavy thuds on their roof, while lightning flashed and thunder cracked almost immediately following.

The cats were coming down lightly and, with their nine lives and their agility, shook themselves off after landing and looked for cover from the downpour.  The smaller dogs, terrier-sized, splashed down, bounced a little, lay on the ground a short while looking dazed then got to their feet, shaking the rain off.  A Saint Bernard came crashing down into the corn patch with a heavy thud and just lay on the battered corn stalks, whining and twitching.

“Oh poor dog,” Mary exclaimed.  “We’ve got to help him.”

“Better wait till after the rain,” said Bob.  “We don’t want  to get hit by anything that heavy.  I just hope our roof holds up.”

Many of the cats sought shelter on their porch as did some of the dogs, all too wet and shocked to growl or hiss at each other.  The deluge of animals seemed to go on forever but it was actually just seven minutes, though the rain continued for longer. When the worse of the storm passed, Bob and Mary went out to survey the damage, carefully opening their side door so that none of the cats would get pass them.  There were other large dogs that had either not survived their fall or were too injured to move.  Their neighbors across the road, Sam and his wife Joanie, had also come out.  

“What the hell happened?’ Sam called.  “Look at these poor dogs and the cats are all over the place.  What a mess.”  He took out his phone to take pictures.

Mary had knelt to comfort the Saint Bernard who looked up at her with sad eyes and whined.  She said, “I’ll call Dr. Long,”  the vet who lived in the next town twenty miles away.

“And I’ll call Judd (the mayor),” said Bob.

“No really, there was a storm and the dogs and cats just fell out of the sky,” Mary said on the line to Dr. Long.  “No, this is not a prank.  I’m telling you there is a St. Bernard who is badly hurt and some other big dogs too.  No, I have not been drinking!  Please come, the dogs are hurt and really need your care.  Look, I’ll put our neighbor Sam on and he’ll verify what happened.”  She motioned to Sam who took the phone to speak with Dr. Long.

The mayor’s phone was busy and when Bob finally got through, his call was answered by Sally, the mayor’s secretary.  After he explained why he was calling, Sally said, “Yes, Judd knows.  Everybody’s been calling.  No, he doesn’t have a plan yet.  When he does, he’ll let you and everyone else know.”

Someone must have called the news desk at KORN, a television station in the Big City which dispatched a news team that arrived in the lingering sunset after the storm had passed.  By then the cats had pretty much scattered, and Dr. Long was tending to the stricken dogs.  Some of the most badly hurt he euthanized, including the Saint Bernard.  The reporter took eyewitness statements and names and viewed the cell phone videos and pictures, copying them.  

It made the regional news the next day and then the national news as an oddity.  Meteorologists at the state university were interviewed and said they’d never heard of anything like this.  Falls of fish and frogs, yes though very rarely.  Yes, small tornadoes or water spouts could suck up water containing the animals from ponds and then deposit them over land.  But dogs and cats?  Never.  And there had been no reports of missing pets either.  On social media, many claimed it was all a hoax, the videos and pictures faked with the aid of AI.  Others opined that it was mass hysteria.  It was a miracle sent as an omen said others, but foretelling what?  The news cycle moved on.

Mary and Bob buried the Saint Bernard in a corner of their lot with a simple marker.  There was no corn to harvest that summer.  And they had been adopted by two of the cats, a tabby and a Burmese.