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Mrs. Clark’s kitchen floor any wetter. “What a storm.”
    Mrs. Clark waves one hand dismissively. “This?” she says. “This is nothing. Why, in my day we wouldn’t have even bothered to bring in the laundry for a little rainstorm like this.”
    I suspect that she’s exaggerating, but I don’t say so. It feels safe and warm inside the cozy kitchen. Mrs. Clark’s house is pretty old, and the walls creak and groan as the wind attacks from outside. But the sound of the rain is muffled as it whips against the window above the sink. “It looks like your yard is flooded,” I say.
    â€œOh, that happens every time there’s a light shower.” Mrs. Clark doesn’t seem worried at all. “It’s just poor drainage. Nothing to panic about.”
    Just then Lucy wanders into the room, moving pretty well despite her splint. “Mrrwowrr!” she greets me cheerfully.
    â€œLucy!” I kneel down on the floor to say hello. “You look just like your old self again. Well, almost.”
    â€œShe’s a tough cookie.” Mrs. Clark smiles fondly at her cat. “She’s getting around fine—everywhere but on the stairs. That reminds me. I wonder if you could do me a favor?”
    â€œSure,” I say. “What is it?”
    â€œLucy’s litter box is in the basement, but she’s not too good at the stairs with that cast on.” Mrs. Clark waves at a door across the room. “I tried to bring it up, but it’s too heavy for my bad back. Could you get it for me?”
    â€œNo problem.” I stand up and head for the basement door. “I’ll get it right now.”
    The basement steps are quite steep, so I’m extra glad now that I braved the hurricane and came over. Otherwise Lucy could have ended up with a second broken leg!
    The light in the basement is pretty dim, but I’ve been down there before to change the kitty litter while cat-sitting. I head straight for the litter box. Splash! My foot lands in a puddle.
    â€œYikes,” I murmur, peering down. I notice that there are several shallow puddles on the concrete floor. My heart starts pounding faster as I remember what my parents said about Willow Street.
    I hoist the litter box in both arms. It’s heavy and kind of smelly, but I just hold my breath and move as fast as I can. Maybe I’m not such a wimp after all.
    When I reach the kitchen, I set the box in the corner where Mrs. Clark directs me. As soon as it’s in place, Lucy comes over to sniff at it. She wants to make sure it’s hers.
    I tell Mrs. Clark about the puddles in the basement. “Maybe you and Lucy should think about going to stay with friends or something,” I suggest. “Just until the storm passes.”
    â€œNonsense.” Mrs. Clark chuckles. “A little water in the basement doesn’t mean a thing. Besides, I rode out many a hurricane in my day back in South Carolina. A lot bigger ones than this, too. Lucy and I will be fine right here at home.”
    I bite my lip. For a second I’m tempted to argue. But I remember how Mrs. Clark despised using a cat carrier until yesterday. If Dr. Mac couldn’t change Mrs. Clark’s mind about something like that, what chance do I have to convince her about this? Besides, she’s been through lots of hurricanes. This is my first one. What do I know? I’m probably worrying too much.
    From Mrs. Clark’s kitchen window, I see that the sky is even darker than it was when I came in. “I’d better get going,” I say. “Dr. Mac probably needs my help at the clinic.”
    â€œAll right, dear. Thank you for stopping by.” Mrs. Clark picks up Lucy, and the two of them walk me to the door.
    I plunge out into the rain, which seems to be coming down harder than when I left the house this morning. The wind takes my breath away at first, and I have to squint to see as the rain stings my