What does the fox say? “It’s cold out!” And it probably
follows up that statement with “Where are my cat-dinners?” (See my blog post “Seven Cats Later . . .” from April of this year for why it would say that.)
Yes, it’s cold. Yesterday it didn’t get above freezing. And
it’s time to get serious about this Christmas thing because I was thinking
about other things and helping the in-laws over the long weekend. So now I’m
planning the cookie baking marathon, because I have to get those suckers baked
and mailed soon. And the tree(s) have to go up and the outside decorations
really should have gone up before it snowed (damn!) and there’s going to be
some words over that one I’m sure. (Crossing fingers this snow melts even
though I know kids are praying it doesn’t because they want to make snow
marbles – you know, leave water balloons with food coloring in them out to
freeze solid then remove the balloon? Yeah, neat mess.) At least The Boy is
cool with earning Xbox time by shoveling the driveway and sidewalk. He likes doing it. Whatever, I’m so happy
to reward that behavior.
The good thing about the snow, which the fox is discovering,
is that The Cat doesn’t like it. That little black furball starts whining to go
out when The Girl gets ready to leave for school at 0630. No. It’s still dark
and she doesn’t get to go outside before sunrise. So we hold her back and The
Girl slips out the door. She mopes around while The Boy gets ready for school
and whines and generally makes our morning miserable as she shows her
displeasure. Finally, 0730 comes around and The Boy is ready to go. The sun is
up, Hubby is ready to drive The Boy and his cello to school.
They open the door.
The Cat leaps out into freedom. Crisp, cool freedom. White fluffy
freedom. Frigid freedom.
By the time Hubby returns from dropping The Boy off ten
minutes later, The Cat is tired of her damned freedom and is ready to come in
to the warm confines of the house. I’m serious. She’s huddled by the front door
on the mat, alternately picking up one front paw then the other to try to keep
them warm. She’s such a spoiled baby.
So, apparently there will be no 'Black Cat Lunch' on the menu
for the local fox this winter.
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