The first snow of the season snuck last Sunday night, Dec. 13. (That’s Bibs, the truly feral cat, sitting in the hutch in the backyard, the one that is wrapped with four tarps on the outside and inside is a cocoon of two down-filled sleeping bags with a fleecy tie-dye cushion squished behind the Plexiglas front wall.)
Our tribe of five outdoor-indoor feral cats (the ones who found the hole in the side of the house that they squeeze into to get to the blankie-beds we’ve made for them in the basement) were none too pleased. (That’s Oscar, who used to be the outdoor cat next door.)
This kind of snow is no fun. No desperate news bulletins warning of the Storm of the Century, no pre-snowfall snowplows churning up and down our street in a frenzy of whirling lights to let us know that our tax dollars are being spent wisely by joy-riding off-duty firemen, no chance of the city coming to a complete standstill in the Blizzard of the Century. (That’s Lickety, on the back patio where the bird feeder is. Just because it’s 20 degrees outside doesn’t mean that a cat can’t do a little birdie watching.)
I didn’t even know it was coming, so I didn’t have the chance to put my bottle of Snow Day Champagne out in the drift by the back door, which wasn’t there anyway because we only got an inch of snow. (That’s Blackie, who even though he comes into the basement to curl up like a kitten in his comforter still thinks he’s a total bad ass like in the good old days when he was the Warrior of the Backyard.)
Grass?? Grass?! I can still see grass!!
This is so not worthy of being the First Snow of the Season. (That’s Candy, who loves Blackie, and is the mom to the three kittens we call the Hobos: Lickety, Taffy, and the late great Butter.)
Nope. This doesn’t count. Even Penelope (see below) thinks so. (This is Penelope, gazing out from her nest in the dining room windowseat going Phhhhhhht. I’ve seen real snow and this ain’t it.)
Screw it. I’m not calling it Snow until I’m house-bound, snow-blind, cabin-fevered, and giddy with the cosy crazy cramped cruel comeliness of it all. Like this:
Until then, I’m wearing my T-shirt tht says:
Got Three Feet of Snow
And All I Got
Was a Freaking DUSTING.