Another New Year has started with a bang. Literally. I don’t know about you, but I dread New Year’s Eve and the Fourth of July, simply because of the fireworks. Where I live, people feel it is a “cultural” thing to set off illegal fireworks, and they start a week or more before the actual holiday. The noise has gotten more and more pronounced every year.
As a child, we would go to fireworks displays and wonder in awe at the amazing pyrotechnics and brilliant flashes of colorful light in the night sky, illuminating our upturned faces as we snuggled under blankets on the warm hood of the old Chevy. Those displays were put on by professionals, who knew what they were doing and carefully calculated each dazzling explosion with brilliant precision. The oohs and aahs of the appreciative crowd to their perfectly timed displays confirmed a job well done.
Not so today’s backyard rocketeers. They set off blast caps and aerials at all hours of the day and night, just to hear the explosions, trying to outdo their neighbors, with little care about what effect these “bombs” have on our veterans, particularly those with PTSD, and our pets, who have no understanding what is going on, but for whom these two (holidays for us) are absolutely terrorizing for them. Every year, we hear of people who are injured from illegal fireworks–injuries that could have been prevented; and people post about their lost pets who have escaped from their homes and run away, trying unsuccessfully to find relief from the terrifying explosions all around the neighborhood, frantically searching to bring their fur babies back home. Hoping they will come back safe, and not find they’ve been hit by a car and injured, or worse. Those pets that don’t escape seek to hide in the deepest, darkest nooks and crannies of their homes, again, seeking relief and comfort from the explosions outside that they can feel through every fiber of their little furry beings. Some people, in a preemptive measure, take to sedating their pets to help them through the evening. But it’s difficult to time when to medicate them when the fireworks blasts start days in advance of the actual holiday.
It is rare to have a pet that accepts fireworks without complaint. I had two–Nani and Lani-Moo. When I lived in Waikiki in Honolulu, I was only a few blocks from Hilton Hawaiian Village, and every Friday night, they had fireworks. Nani and Lani-Moo became so used to them, that they would actually sleep through the fireworks on New Year’s Eve and the Fourth of July. Now, however, is another story. Prada is absolutely terrified of fireworks. Every year I set up a “cat cave” for him out of a pet carrier with a comfort blanket and a step stool in front of it, next to the ottoman by the couch. I place a towel and heavy blanket over it to dampen the noise as much as possible, and I spend the night in a chair, with my feet propped up on the ottoman over the pet carrier, watching movies with the lights on and all the windows closed, trying to keep out as much of the noise and flashes as possible. This year, he retreated to his cave at 7:00 PM. He came out only once to follow me when I got up to use the restroom. He curled up in a corner, frozen in fear. Pastel prodded him with her paw, but he wouldn’t move. I picked him up and put him down next to the step stool, and he once again retreated to his cave, not coming out until the blasts started to subside about 1:00 AM. I was finally able to go to bed around 2:00 AM. Prada woke me up to feed him about 4:30 AM, apparently thinking I had overslept.
You may ask why I don’t sedate him, but medicating Prada is about as traumatizing for him as the fireworks, and I don’t want to overload his senses any more than they already are. In a worst-case scenario, which has happened only a couple of times, I have retreated with him to the closet for the duration of the worst of the blasts, where there are no windows, and the walls are made of cement. There is little room in there and no airflow, so leaving him in there all evening is not a good option. He is not a lap cat and doesn’t like to be held for very long.
Pastel is another story. I am firmly convinced she is Lani-Moo reincarnated. Fireworks don’t seem to bother her at all. She spent the evening playing with her toys, asking for pets, and at one point, passing out at the top of the cat tree, watching the fireworks. One might think she’s hard of hearing, but she is most definitely not. She can pick up someone approaching the front door long before I do! And I often know when I’m going to get visitors simply because of her alerting me to their presence.
Every year, after the first of the year, the politicians say they are going to do something to stem the growing illegal fireworks, as the Sulphur hangs in the air, making it difficult for those with asthma to breathe outside their homes. It would be nice if the pyrotechnics would be left to the professionals, and my poor Prada wouldn’t have to cower all evening in fear. This year, a horrible tragedy shortly after midnight occurred in a neighborhood downtown that may be a catalyst to change. Sometimes it takes something terrible to wake up the masses. I am heartbroken for those involved, but I am hopeful that maybe, just maybe, it will be enough to provide some relief to our vets and pets in the future. They do not deserve to live in fear, even for a day.