Winter

Winter. Winter is cold. It is death. It is white and blinding. It is good only for one thing: sleeping more. Here in the Canadian prairies where my author and I live, winter is especially harsh. Temperatures can reach below -40 Celcius for weeks on end. Snow piles up feet high and ice slicks every surface beneath the heavy white blanket of death.

You know what else is white? My belly and paws and the little dot on my lip. Those are warm and soft. Look don’t touch. They are nothing like winter.

Winter is harsh. Once in a while, I try to show winter who is boss. My author holds the door open when my eyes speak of curiosity and determination. I take a step, then another, and one more. I slowly move outside with memories of my yard clad in warm summer grass or crisp fall leaves. My bean toes touch the snow. Even as it melts beneath my paws into horrid water, I stand tall, surveying my territory. But who am I kidding? Within seconds the horrors of winter and the water melting and stinging beneath my paws force me back inside.

I quickly scamper back to the warmth and find my way to the nearest heating vent.

This face isn’t made for the harsh outdoors. Though, I am an experienced street cat with the first eight months of my life spent surviving out there. Instead, I’m made for luxury, lounging, and literature. Though, winter puts a damper in that too.

Its harshness reaches inside the walls of my home. It lurks, a chill passing through the house unpredictably. It forces my nature to respond. The hibernatium begins. I sleep more than ever, keeping warm in the linen closet or on a heating vent. I forget what the sun looks like, even though it streams through the windows, because it is tainted by the white glare of snow. I shut my eyes against its harshness.

I sleep and sleep and books on shelves and in stacks call to me through dreams and half sleep. I’d much rather be reading them, but sleep is powerful. Winter sleep has me in its grasp and will not let me go. Though I can hear the echoes of spring now and wait for the time when I will be liberated. I hate winter. Winter ruins everything. I wish it would die and melt away. Winter… winter… winter… zzzzzzzz

Whiskers snoozes in the winter sun
A nap during winter

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