Me, the Cat and the Snow.

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This is how bad it is. My cat went walking in the snow this morning.

My cat hates snow. Hates it. Cat hell for her is not a place of fire and brimstone, but a world covered in snow. She spends the winter pacing back and forth to the door and windows, trying to figure out what happened to her world. She goes out on the porch and paces back and forth for twenty-minute spells before she starts shredding the screen to be let in.

This morning, though, with the snow that was supposed to stop last night still falling heavily, she took off, her little cat paw prints going down the steps and disappearing in the white that was once my driveway.

I get it. I am a bit prone to cabin fever myself. Mostly, I drive through the stuff. I’ll go to my favorite diner just to get out. I’ll cruise the country roads with my camera, but it’s not about getting beautiful pictures. I just have to get out.

But this winter has been relentless. Snow after snow after snow. The news outlets in all their armageddon verbiage have constantly reminded us that this is the third nor’easter in 11 days.

As if I had to be reminded.

I don’t like feeling trapped. Don’t ask me where that comes from. No one ever locked me in a closet or threw me in a dungeon. All in all, I have lived a much freer life than most people. I didn’t have a lot of rules as a kid, and most of the ones I had, I ignored. As I grew up, I was pretty good at building work and lives that gave me a lot of freedom to go and do what I pleased. So there should not be any latent fear of being closed in.

And it’s not a fear exactly. it’s a restlessness. I like to be able to move. To see what’s out there, what’s happening, talk to people, watch the land and it’s seasons. Take that away from me and I am like a prisoner in jail.

So, when it snows, I go out in it. It’s not hard sometimes. It is hard sometimes. Certainly, it takes more work and care and vigilance to drive in snow. Do a lot of it and it’s tiring. And this last one, the one that is still going on, coldly, gleefully messing with the almost ides of March? It was the backbreaker.

I’m just tired of the stuff. I want to cruise down my country roads too fast, loose and casual with the top down on my convertible. I love my tank like Isuzu Trooper, but I’m tired of it. Tired of its square squat tankness and salt-stained floor mats.

My friends are sending pictures of Crocus in their gardens. I can’t even find my garden.

Yeah, I’m whining. And I am not prone to whining. Which tells you how tired of the white stuff I am. I love winter, but just like kids, it’s supposed to grow up and move away.  This snow is like the 50-year-old kid that never moved out.

But the cat has the right idea. Go out anyway. When I am done writing this, I’ll bundle up, and shovel out the truck. I’ll brush off the snow and chip off the windshield. And go somewhere, anywhere.

Until the next snow.

It’s only mid-March after all.

Tom

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