We just moved my mom into a condo on the island. She doesn’t sweat weather, but I told her I’d let her know if was time to leave. Otherwise, it’s fine. A Cat 1 is no different than an East Tennessee summer storm.
A couple of weeks after I moved to Wilmington some 25 odd years ago, a Category 1 hurricane started making its way toward the Carolina coast. Everyone around had that attitude of: It's just going to be a Cat 1, no big deal, it'll be stormy for half a day, but the only thing you really need to worry about is the tornadoes on the backside.
Being a young and foolish Midwesterner, I thought OK. I can handle that. I know what to do if there's a tornado, so if that's the biggest worry, I'm good. I stayed in town with my roommate, who had just moved down from Rose Hill and seemed wise in the way of hurricanes.
Well, Hurricane Bonnie didn't weaken anywhere nearly as much as they were predicting before making landfall as a strong Cat 2 near Topsail. More importantly, Bonnie seemed to stall over southeastern North Carolina. We had several hours of moving in and out of the western eyewall while it kind of oscillated. And the water in our runoff ditch behind our apartment was slowly creeping up to our patio door as we piled as many towels and clothes as we could find to try to keep it at bay.
The whole thing lasted about 3x as long as any of the locals predicted. It was about 36 hours of getting pounded followed by a week or so without electricity. As a result, I've always taken even category 1 hurricanes pretty seriously.
My favorite part of my Hurricane Bonnie story was the guy randomly banging on our front door during the worst of the eyewall. I opened the door to find a probably 30-something, rough looking dude wearing a wetsuit asking "You got any coke? I ran out hours ago. Wasn't expecting it to last this long." He was not referring to Coca-Cola.