Did You Hear That?

By Gordon Hopkins So another Independence Day has come and gone. For the most part, folks have moved on, though some are still cleaning up the mess of charred, colored paper left behind by firecrackers, roman candles, spinners, fountains, cones, sparklers and various other colorful pyrotechnics.Here on the editorial page, you'll note some writers are talking about it.A lot of people use the Fourth of July as an opportunity to honor veterans of wars past. There is one war that is never past when the fourth comes around. It is re-fought every year.Of course, I am talking about the war between fireworks lovers and pet lovers.Every year, the battle becomes more vicious and more nasty. Every year, pet owners become ever more resentful of the effects those loud booms have on their furry family members. Every year, firework lovers become ever more resentful over being made to feel guilty (or refusing to feel guilty) for indulging in that great American pastime, blowing stuff to smithereens.As a man who enjoys both a colorful fireworks display and the companionship of fuzzy critters, I confess to feeling caught in the middle. I've had pets that were absolutely terrified of loud noises, not just fireworks but thunderstorms, noisy engines and John Philip Sousa music. It can be an ordeal to comfort fluffy loved ones under those circumstances and I understand the frustration and even the anger.It is fortunate for me I haven't had to deal with the issue for a while. Archie (the orange cat) and Groucho (the black cat) don't seem to be particularly bothered by the loud, repeated booms that come with America's most patriotic holiday.No, my cats aren't deaf. Obviously, I have wondered if they are deaf, as has every cat owner who has been steadfastly ignored while screaming, “STOP SCRATCHING UP THE SOFA!!!”So I had them checked and they can hear just fine.When fireworks happen, quite often, my cats sit in the window, looking to see where all those noises are coming from. They certainly don't act scared.This year, however, I was worried. It is a little over six months since I found a terrified little, black fuzzball, hiding in a corner of my porch in the dark, crying, his golden eyes as big as saucers.It was New Year's Eve and I'd guessed he'd been frightened by the fireworks.So, I was worried. Had the cat I now called Harper been traumatized by the fireworks? Would he freak out when they started up again?Some neighbors had set off a few low-yield explosives in the days before the fourth and Harper hadn't seemed too bothered. Still, the big fireworks display would be exponentially louder. So when the fourth came around, I put on the television and every fan in the house, hoping all the random background noise would dampen the impact. Thinking the sound would be less noticeable underground, I lured Harper into the basement. He spends a lot of time down there, anyway. I gave him his favorite flopping fish toy and kept a bag of treats handy should comforting become necessary.Then, as you know, the storm started and the city's big fireworks display was postponed for the next night. So I went through it all again the next night.It turns out, I needn't have bothered. As soon as the fireworks started, Harper joined his adopted cat siblings in the window, watching the colored globs of light over the treetops. Until they got bored and all three went to sleep long before the fireworks reached their crescendo.

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