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Show Twisters . . . 31 go to the basement during wind storms. That figures. They moved here from California, what do they know? Ever hear of a tornado in good old CA? Mom went after a blanket. "I'll be right back," she told us next, hooking her purse on her shoulder. I'm sure nothing's going to happen, but we have to be prepared, right? Your father would have a fit if we ignored the siren." She smiled and waved her car keys at us as she left, barely squeezing out before the door slammed shut again. "Whooeeeee!" Arthur exclaimed. "Sounds like my bull-roarer outside!" I hurried downstairs with the emergency stuff and set it on the bathroom counter. Minerva went with me, scurrying across my feet on the steps, acting the way she does when she wants attention, I picked her up by the middle, smoothed down her stripes, and balanced her on the glass door of the shower. Usually she'll do a tightrope act for me, but she only yowled and jumped off. After giving me her mean jungle-look, she sat down to dig at her ear. "You got a flea in there?" I asked, bending to give her a good scratching. She didn't like that, either. I couldn't figure out what was wrong with her. Upstairs, Arthur was hooting and hollering again. I decided I was missing all the good parts, so I hurried up the two short flights of steps with Minerva dashing ahead of me. Sometime in there, in the middle of all that comedy on the screen, the siren began. Now, that i6 a very sobering sound. It's unlike anything else, having its own built-in chill factor. |