I moved to St Pete Beach, Florida, which is about 25 miles drive from Tampa, with my family just over 3 years ago. It was always my dream. Having been holidaying in St Pete since I was 4 years old, I would fantasise about making it a reality. And after a twist of events in my family and career, 40 years later, my dream came true.
With a beautiful house on the water, a pool and a jetski, I often pinch myself that it is my reality. My boys – Oliver, 19 and Billy, 13 settled into Floridian life almost immediately, as did my husband Dan. We have an amazing network of friends and a very supportive community. Our weekends, I call them our mini holidays, are filled with days spent at the beach, on friends’ boats, or listening to music at our local beach bar…
Yes, life is good on the beach, as they say. And it really is. Until it isn’t…Two days ago my family and my 2 ragdoll cats – Lily and Percy – evacuated from our little slice of paradise to Orlando to escape the impending wrath of the now globally famous Category 5 Hurricane Milton. Experts say it will go down in history as one of the most catastrophic hurricanes the west coast of Florida has ever experienced.
Even though I was reluctant to leave our beautiful home, we had prepared as much as we could, and we knew that evacuating was our only option.
Just 2 weeks ago the outskirts of another Category 4 hurricane, Helene, ravaged our area. We had a 6ft storm surge come into our house which devastated our first floor and totalled one of our cars and our jetski. We spent days clearing out our storm-soaked possessions which still sit at the end of our drive – weapons-in-waiting for Milton to stir up in his path.
So along with 500 thousand other residents in Pinellas county, we left for Orlando on Monday night. We packed what we could into two cars (one of which was generously lent to us by a friend). Passports, a few keepsakes and jewellery were prioritised. But as I was packing, I realised it was family who were the most important. They are truly my treasured possessions.
Apocalypse now!
It was a stressful ride out. We live on one of the barrier islands that is connected to St Petersburg by bridges. We had already been told that our water would be turned off on Tuesday morning to protect the sewage system from the surge. Police and fire trucks were patrolling the streets with loudhailers instructing us to leave. Very scary stuff. It felt like we were on the set of an apocalyptic movie.
We arrived at our first hotel in Orlando at just past midnight, tired and exhausted. We were only staying there for one night, moving onto a bigger hotel where other friends were staying the next day.
Sadly, the reception at the first hotel wasn’t as warm as I’d expected. After a five hour drive (which should have taken 2 hours), we were coldly told that even though the hotel had a pet policy, it didn’t allow for cats – just dogs – so we wouldn’t be able to check in and would have to find accommodation elsewhere.
Reiterating that these were unprecedented circumstances – we were evacuating from a global natural disaster for god's sake – I pleaded to the duty manager to make an exception. No. No exceptions apparently. Not even a call to the general manager would help. In fact, this call made it worse. I was told that if me and my family – and the cats more importantly – didn’t leave the premises, the police would be called!
As you can imagine, I was livid. And so the spirited, hard nosed Londoner came out in me. I told her to go ahead and call the police as we were not moving. My family and the cats would sleep in the reception if we had to!
A long and stressful 45 minutes later, management did an about turn and an ‘exception’ was made. Words fail me even 24 hours later that it even happened to be honest…
'I feel scared'
So here we are, living on the 12th floor, in another ‘pet friendly’ hotel in Orlando. Only this time it really is pet friendly. Literally everyone has a cat or a dog here. It feels like we are in Noah's Ark. It’s strangely comforting to have the animals around actually. They look perplexed but their obliviousness to the reality adds a bit of light heartedness to the atmosphere.
There are around 10 other families that we know well staying here, which is comforting too . My sons have their friends to distract them. My husband and I have people to lean on, to cry and laugh with. There is a real ‘we are in this together’ spirit emanating from the corridors and lobbies. Even strangers are asking where we live and sharing their positive prayers our way.
I feel scared, I can't lie. As I write this I have a sick feeling in my stomach and a lump in my throat. Getting emails and Instagram DMs from old friends and colleagues that I haven’t spoken to for years is comforting yet unnerving. My mum and dad, who still live in London, have CNN on loop (which I’ve told them is not good for their nerves).
And so now we live in this surreal kind of limbo for the next 16 hours or so. Constantly refreshing our weather feeds is addictive but probably not a good idea, as the track truly is in the hand of fate now.
But lying in my bed, typing this, I humbly realise that life goes on and, most importantly, I still have what is important around me: my sons are bickering about who is taking up too much space in the bed; my husband is complaining that the cats keep climbing over him; and the cats are inquisitively scurrying around their temporary home.
Of course, I hope and pray that I have a home to come back to, but family, friends and safety is what life is truly all about.
This too shall pass…
