Aneeza was only six weeks old when she came to live in the cottage. The June day was heavy with heat and humid air. By evening the all too familiar green and grey clouds were forming on the horizon, signaling the impending storm. In Kansas, the months of April, May and June are referred to as "tornado season" and the area we live in is called "tornado alley". This night would begin the first of many scary nights. The air becomes thick with moisture. The eerie silence before the rain begins, is broken only by the sounds of the weather tracking systems breaking in to regular tv programming. The storms always follow the same path and each community sits and watches as the storms head their way. The distant thunder and lightening come ever closer. The rain begins softly and then begins to pound. In the darkness, the sky alights in a single flash, and illuminates the angry rolling black clouds. The meteorologist becomes anxious as ongoing reports of tornadic activity are reported to him. Imminently, the fierce sounds of the storm, are pierced by the blast of sirens. The meteorologist now quickly hastens each of us to go to our basements and take cover. "This is a warning! A tornado has been sighted aloft! Take cover now!" There is the rain, the sirens blare, and the incredible wind. And yet, there is that eerie silence. With my purse in hand, my small furball kitten still asleep in my arm I tell my husband that this "one" looks serious and we better go downstairs. Quickly, I grab a few more items I deem might be useful if the top two floors no longer remain after the storm, and make my way to the basement.

As I hit the bottom landing, I find my place in the southeast corner and fumble to turn on the battery operated radio for updates. The rain slows abit, a crack of thunder, a large pop, and the basement is plunged into total darkness and the electricity goes off. In the darkness, I realize that I am all alone, except for Aneeza.

Where is my husband? Groping in the darkness, I realize that I have brought with me into seclusion, a small blanket, enough cat food for a year's feedings, my purse, and Aneeza. Feeling my way along the shelf, I find a small candle.

The voice on the radio tells me to look around the basement and look for items that could become guided missiles during high winds. These items should be secured she warns. I am amused because we are sitting in the middle of my husbands workshop. Besides the drills and saws, lurking in the murky darkness are no less than 40 screwdrivers and hammers.

Overhead, the floor squeaks as footsteps cross from room to room. What is he doing? And why doesn't he come to the safety of the tool laden basement?Suddenly, a familiar sound from above.

A moment later, another candle appears out of the darkness. Coming into view, the candle rests on a tray beside a small pitcher and two very pristine frosty martini glasses. Each contains a perfect slice of carved lemon rind and silvery liquid. "I thought this might help ease our nerves abit, my husband says as he quickly makes the area into a small bistro. A few crackers with cheese accompany the martinis. We listen to the Atlanta Braves baseball game on the only station we seem to find on the radio. Ocassionally, the game is interrupted by the announcer. "There has been some severe weather in and around the Kansas City area this evening. We will update you with further information as it becomes available. And now back to the game."

The sirens always remind me of Mrs. Minniver tucked away in the bombshelter. The small lightbulb over her head shakes from the rumbles above, and reveals her two children asleep in the bunker, while Mr. Minniver bravely tries to read a book.

The sirens outside the cottage have stopped now and the thunder rumbles further away in the darkness now. I sip my martini and look down to see that Aneeza has slept through the entire event. A magic lever flips somewhere in the city and the buzz, whir and groans of the returning electricity reveal that our romantic bistro is really a workshop in the middle of the basement. Upstairs, I hear Jay Leno doing his Tonite Show monologue on tv. Once again, we have been allowed to remain in OZ. Safe for another day, we retire to our bed and listen to the gentle sounds of the rain.