We've come closest to a hurricane yet. Tropical storm Fay has hurled insults at our windows and thrashed against our walls. We endured days of howling winds and slashing rains. At dusk she would repent and let us see a glimmer of leaky sun, a poached egg on grey toast.

There is a black and white cat that lives around our building. It's tail is half lopped off. For weeks I brought water and food, tempting it to scurry warily from beneath the shade of a car. Then I began to notice that there were other bowls placed by tires, beneath the scraggly trees, pushed into bushes.

One day, before the storm, I met a fellow tenant who had a bowl of kibble in hand and a yowling cat following. She told me that "they" had named it Louie. I preferred Louise.

While the winds sneaked through cracks and moaned in desperation, I worried about the stray cat who has deemed our building a refuge. Today, I braved the gusts and set out to bring food and water.

I saw I was not the only one with the same idea.

On the soaked grass were strewn about several dishes and bowls brimming with water and debris. A wet homage to our building's demigod.