My cat spent last night outside, mostly because she wouldn't come in by the time my head hit the pillow. This happens every now and then, and she usually seems perfectly fine spending the night catching mice and leaving them for me by the door. But, starting at about 4:00AM, I started hearing her meow, ever so gently, by the bedroom window. Heavy with sleep, I rolled over and hugged a pillow. Periodically over the next hour and a half, though, I'd hear her again from different windows in the apartment - each protested call rising another notch in desperation. Finally, at around 5:30AM, she broke my slumber sufficiently for me to stand up and let her in, though I failed to notice that she was soaking wet.
An hour later, my still-drenched cat was sitting by the heater, furiously bathing herself while letting loose a fury of calming purrs. I, dressed to kill for another day of teaching my students letting my students walk all over me, looped by backpack over my shoulder, walked out of the apartment, and walked right into the natural terror that so traumatized my cat: snow!!!
At least two inches on the ground, with more falling fast. I grinned, glancing up and down the streets. Usually filled with early-morning commuters like myself, scurrying to offices downtown, the streets were absolutely deserted. Not a soul was out, nor had a single pair of tracks from a car or bicycle penetrated the blanket. My booted feet stepped confidently, relishing the long-forgotten soft, muted crunch of snow-covered ground. I was on an alien world, an Earth feed wholesome spoonfuls of Quiet. I felt guilty for the penetrant sounds of my breaths, muted giggles, and footfalls as I made my way to school, and for the earlier screams of agnony from my pet.
Surely, such disruptions are sacrilege.
Posted by James at January 16, 2007 08:06 AM