This early morning, around 3:30 a.m., Tabby and I were awakened by the sound of strong winds howling through the trees. The sky was a soft gray, and sunlight filtered gently through the trees, casting faint golden patches on the swaying ground. Branches moved restlessly and leaves danced in a frenzy, as if the whole yard had been stirred from a deep sleep. The air was cool and crisp, a welcome change from the heavy heat of the past few days.

Despite the bluster, it didn’t feel like bad weather—just nature putting on a dramatic show. I felt oddly calm, watching the scene unfold with quiet appreciation.

Tabby stood by the door, ears twitching and tail flicking, clearly torn between curiosity and caution. After a moment of hesitation, he stepped outside, crouching low as the wind tousled his fur. I followed, walking through the gusts to check the outdoor furniture—table, chairs, and parasol—to make sure nothing would be carried off by the morning’s wild breath.