Last week, I was in class to renew my CPR certification. As in previous courses, we had a good time pointing at each other and saying, "You - call 9-1-1 ..." followed by a list of instructions.
This week, I'm pretty sure I pointed at my daughter when I said, "Call 9-1-1."
M's a college student, had only been home five days from her summer course, and will be returning to school in less than a month. She made the call and helped me get as many animals out of the house as possible, then handled the dogs for close to six hours after they were removed from the backyard with borrowed leashes.
The fire was in the basement. I couldn't see the flames when I opened the cellar door when I was trying to track down the smoke smell.
The smoke detectors didn't go off until after the call was made and we were running around, trying to stuff cats in carriers.
Our town and the neighboring town's fire department responded and acted aggressively to put it out fast. I'm thankful they were so proactive, and once the structure was deemed safe, the cat rescue folks, who all showed up with carriers, swarmed the house to find every cat that remained. None jumped out a broken window or ran out an open door.
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