A frenzied hysteria arose in Wellington following the "big one" two weeks ago. I've experienced hundreds of earthquakes but never get used to the sense of helplessness.
I was writing in my library when it struck, violently jerking the house a metre back and forward every second. Books, pictures and vases crashed about me. Adjacent to my library is the safest place to be - the billiard room - but walking was impossible as I gripped my chair like riding a bucking bronco. Afterwards, paintings and diverse items lay everywhere, all undamaged. A dinner plate had shattered, otherwise my house, sitting on a fault-line, was unscathed.
Two days later our cat, who has never forgiven me for introducing a tiny kitten into the home, returned inside. The look she gave me made it clear I'd failed her again and the earthquake was the last straw. She haughtily went upstairs to sulk over this final betrayal to her previous life of certainties.
The 6.5 earthquake was quickly world news. Shortly after, a lesser one in China killed over a hundred people. The phone began ringing as family and friends from as far afield as Estonia called. What was interesting was who didn't, inducing the Dominion Post's cartoonist Tom Scott to draw a cartoon on that theme on Wednesday. I had lunch with Tom last week and he said it had been a common complaint.
The following morning, public transport was cancelled and everyone was urged to stay out of the city until midday. To their credit six of my staff turned up. It transpired some had been up until midnight on Sunday dealing with calls from lessees. With 14 buildings my company is the largest CBD owner and the next two days were frantic with lessees behaving like my cat and all but blaming us for the quake. We gave the staff $1000 bonuses each for enduring the abuse.