The morning was suspiciously quiet. Too quiet.
No birds chattering. No squirrels yelling at each other from the trees. Not even the usual sound of loud trucks threatening my sense of inner peace. Just… hush. A soft, bright hush that made my whiskers twitch with uncertainty.
Naturally, I took this as a sign that Something Was Wrong.
I padded to the window and—oh. Oh no.
The outside had been erased and replaced with a soft, white blanket of betrayal. The trees looked like ghosts. My kingdom had vanished beneath this frosty fluff. And my Purrson? She smiled. Smiled, I tell you. Like this was a good thing.
Furriends, I was not prepared.
She opened the door and scooped me up. I allowed it, because I am gracious and dignified. I figured we’d assess the situation together, maybe look at it from a safe distance and declare it Not My Problem.
But no. She put me in it.
My first step into snow can only be described as a full-body realization that the ground had turned into a cold, wet lie.
The second step was worse.
By the third, I had entered a trance-like state best described as “regret in motion.”
I tried walking. My toes said no.
I tried turning back. The path was gone.
I tried yelling at the sky. The sky ignored me.
Eventually, I hopped dramatically back to the safety of the doormat—where I stood, staring into the middle distance, pondering the choices that led me to this moment. My Purrson laughed. She called me a “snow angel.” I am not an angel. I am a cat. And I had just been betrayed by winter.
I have since forgiven her. Mostly.
But I now approach open doors with a healthy dose of skepticism, and I check for snow like my life depends on it. Because it does.
Because my toe beans do.
Stay warm, friends. And if you must face the snow… do it with dignity. Or at least with a dramatic flounce.
Purrs and thawed outrage,
Tyson 🐾
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