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A cat got loose at the St. Bernard Parish emergency shelters. I took off after him, ran across the baseball field, and hopped the fence. I found myself in a neighborhood, and it was so eerie. There was not even a bug making a noise—because there was nothing alive. So I followed Jack as he was going in between the homes. He was a pre-owned "neighborhood" cat; a woman who used to take care of between 8 and 13 outside cats came in daily to check on him. And Jack had been in the medical center, but when somebody was handling him, Jack scooted out and got by him and got out. All the cats were looking for their chance to run.
When I followed Jack, it was just so weird-looking—it was like a great dust over everything. And then a substance that looked like black shale—it was an inch thick from the crude oil in the refineries—was in the water. And you could see where the water had been up to the rooftops. On one driveway I walked down, there was a huge golden fish—it had to be at least 12 inches by maybe 9 inches. And you know how your mind has to stop and look at something and try and register it? Like, “What in God’s name am I looking at?” It was a fish from the ocean, just dead in the driveway, really preserved.
But walking down, all of a sudden in a bush, there was a rustle. And let me tell you, it’s a little scary because you didn’t hear a single sound there. We’re so used to noise. I’ve got the computer on right now, but if I go outside, I hear the river, I might hear traffic down the street. There was nothing, and then all of a sudden I heard a rustle in a bush. It was one bird. One bird.
From an interview with Sue Skaskiw, executive director of Vermont Volunteer Services for Animals Humane Society, Bridgewater, Vermont.
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