By
Christene Kidd
5/28/25
•
5 min
A love letter to preparedness, cat parenthood, and finding calm in the chaos.
A few months ago, I received a text alert that felt like it belonged in a disaster movie: "Tsunami warning for San Francisco. Seek higher ground. Expect flooding."
The city hummed with anxiety—neighbors peering out windows, news anchors speaking in that practiced-but-urgent tone, my phone buzzing with worried messages. But as I stood paralyzed and imagined what might come next, my mind went straight to my cat.
Would I be ready to save her if the worst happened?
I realized, with that particular shade of guilt that only pet parents understand, that while I'd prepped for the usual San Francisco scenarios—earthquakes, power outages, Bay to Breakers blocking my usual route home—I hadn't actually planned for a full-scale evacuation with a terrified feline in tow.
There's a scene in "A Quiet Place: Day One" where the protagonist clutches their cat, navigating through danger with every sense heightened. In those quiet moments watching the film, I thought: that's the kind of cat parent I want to be. The one who puts them first, who survives anything with their best friend safely by their side.
But real-life heroics don't begin with dramatic music and lighting. They start with checklists and a little planning.
So this is my offering to you, fellow cat moms and dads: what it really takes to be ready when the unexpected arrives at your door.
Think of your cat's emergency kit as their "go bag"—everything they'll need if you have to leave home without warning. Here's what now lives in a backpack by my front door:
I've also labeled her carrier with my contact info and "VIP: Very Important Purrson." It makes me smile every time I see it—and in an emergency, that little moment of joy might be exactly what I need.
Can I share something embarrassing? The last time I needed to get my cat into her carrier quickly, she vanished under the bed while I army-crawled across the floor trying to coax her out with an increasingly desperate slew of treats.
Not exactly the hero I'd imagined.
Now, we practice. The carrier stays out as permanent furniture. Treats appear inside it randomly. Sometimes dinner happens there. It's not perfect—she's still a cat with her own agenda—but it's progress.
I've also mapped her favorite hiding spots. Under the bed? Check. Behind the bookshelf? Check. Inside that one cabinet that doesn't quite close properly? Absolutely.
Not all evacuation shelters welcome pets, and the last thing you want during a crisis is to be frantically searching for pet-friendly accommodation while your cat screams from their carrier.
I keep a list of hotels that accept pets within a 50-mile radius of San Francisco. I've also made arrangements with friends in different directions—north, east, and south—who would welcome us both in an emergency.
My downstairs neighbor has a key to my apartment and knows exactly where to find my cat if disaster strikes while I'm away. We check in with each other during every minor emergency. Small rituals bring comfort.
My cat wears a collar with a tag, but she's also microchipped—and I've made sure my contact information is current in the registry. In those first chaotic hours after a disaster, this simple step could be the difference between reunion and heartbreak.
I keep recent photos of her on my phone and printed in my emergency kit. Her distinct markings, her unique personality quirks—all documented, just in case.
If you take away just one thing from this post, let it be this: if you evacuate, take your cat with you. Even if you think you'll be back in a few hours. Even if it seems like an overreaction. Even if it's complicated.
Never leave your cat alone in a carrier in an empty home. Never assume "they'll be fine until tomorrow."
If it's not safe for you, it's not safe for them.
One beautiful thing about being a cat parent in San Francisco: we have each other. Whether it's sharing tips in neighborhood groups, swapping supplies during shortages, or just checking in during a crisis, our community is a lifeline.
Join local groups. Share what works for you. Offer help when you can. Sometimes being a hero means lending a carrier or a can of food to a neighbor who didn't prepare quite as well as you did.
At its core, emergency preparedness isn't about fear. It's about love. It's about the promise we make to these small, complex creatures who trust us with their lives: "Wherever I go, you go too."
So the next time the sirens sound or the ground shakes beneath your feet, you'll know you're ready—not just to survive, but to keep your cat safe, comforted, and at your side.
Because when it comes down to it, that's what matters most.
Want to share your own emergency prep story? Join our community board, or send us a note for the next issue of The Catalogue. Because when it comes to our cats, we're all in this together.
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