Tropical Storm Debby is moving her real estate to Tybee Island, home to the quirky folks we love. She will only be a guest for a few days.

The ladies at Sunrise on Wilmington this morning, when Jimbo and I ate, were their usual sunny dispositions. You would never know a storm was coming from listening to the usual banter. Probably be open tomorrow, Miss Sandy says.

At Ace Hardware, things were slower than usual. A pleasant visit with Mr. John. Bought some of his night lights for Miss Junie and caught up on the latest technology. A new night light is on the next truck, one that you plug in, and when electricity goes off, it comes on automatically.

Where is it when I need it?

Oh yeah, on a truck coming from Jacksonville.

And this afternoon, with rain pelting the truck windshield like a flock of diarrhetic seagulls passing over, I made my last trip to Walmart on Wilmington Island.

Well, the last trip for this day.

I met this nice older man and his wife. They were in front of me in a “real” checkout line with a friendly Hispanic lady running the register. I am dripping wet.

I would have let you in front if I saw you only had a couple of things as the talkative Hispanic lady rang up every can of cat food for the lovely couple and chatted with the wife. Each can a different flavor.

As I dripped at least a quart of water on the tile with a Walmart employee glaring at me, I bet she was the one to clean up my contribution me and the fellow visited.

All that food for your cats?

Nah, some for the raccoons and possums that visit daily.

Ah, ha, I say, how many cats do you have?

Only six now.

Got a Coon Cat. Ever seen one?

He pulls out his wallet and shows me a picture of this cat. It’s quite lovely and weighs in at 30 plus pounds. Six years old, he says.

Got diabetes—the cat, not me, he says.

We must give him a shot daily, but only when he is ready.

Seriously, ask my wife.

He comes and finds us when he’s situated to his liking, crawls up on that cat tree, and positions his butt. We inject him, and he purrs.

He then sleeps for about an hour before demanding food.

Really likes that chicken and gravy. You can probably tell he likes his meals.

The Walmart lady is still glaring.

The Hispanic cashier tells his wife she had a cat once. Smart cat.

I’m still dripping, probably up to two quarts now. Water is spreading to my right towards Miss Hospitality.

They pay. I checked out in two minutes. I wish the cashier a safe trip home and smile.

The chagrined Walmart employee is mopping up the last of my drippings and mumbling something about me or my mother.

I don’t ask.

Sorry about that, she snarls.

It’s pouring rain now.

Tell you what, go get your car and bring it to the door.

Seriously, he says. Yes, sir, no need for y’all to get drenched, too.

He slumbers out, holding the umbrella high and humming. The fellow is not going to be running. Me either.

The wife and I get acquainted. The folks are from Long Island. They live on the river over by that new bridge they built. They are real pet lovers.

Did he mention we also have three dogs?

He pulls up in an older Lexus SUV.

I open her door and ask that he stay in the car. She bolts in, talking about how concerned she is that her hair will curl up.

I packed their backseat with enough cat food to feed the cats, raccoons, and possums; what did she say?

Or, yeah, a week.

Gotta love folks you meet during a tropical storm.

Even better when they are pet lovers.