, , , , ,

We have snow.

This makes me happy.  The sun is shining, the birds are coughing, and the garden is beautifully blanketed with white stuff.  (This white stuff has magical properties which hide the fact the weeding needs doing, the border wants clearing – in short, hiding the fact that I’m not a good gardener).


I wish it would snow more.  I’m sure when I was younger it snowed a lot more than it does these days. That’s what you get as payback for using CFC’s and not weaving enough lentils, people.

The Boodle didn’t know what snow was the first time she saw it. She sat on the windowsill and watched snowflakes falling with the manicness of a tennis fanatic given front row seats at Wimbledon. Only vertically, not horizontally.  Once she’d figured out that it wasn’t harmful, she hopped through it to check out her territory, pogoing through the cold with a stiff-legged spring action. I guess at least she didn’t have a fight with a bird, unlike Simon’s cat. How does a cat have a snowball fight?!

Last year she discovered snow swimming. This new sport mainly consisted of flinging herself into a snowdrift, maintaining a stiff, bristly furred upper body stance, whilst paddling frantically with all four legs.  Generally accompanied by loud purring and the occasional backwards glance to ensure the sheer genius of snow swimming was being acknowledged by her human.  Tunnels appeared all over the garden, making it look like some kind of demonic escape attempt by a giant worm.

This year, the snow isn’t deep enough to swim in. This makes The Boo sad. So sport has been abandoned for lots of sleeping instead.

I know how she feels. I’m happy that it has snowed. I want more snow. But sadly I can’t retire to bed in disgust. So I must take action, beyond making yet another cup of tea and contemplating what to make for tonight’s supper.

If I start a social mee-ja campaign, do you think the skies would listen? That’s the way it’s done these days, isn’t it? Perhaps I should tweet God, the Daily Mail and a number of celebrities along with my local MP. I can supply, for free, a picture of a sad looking cat by a decreasing pile of snow. She could be the poster cat for sustainable living.

She’d love it. Attention, food, lots of people talking about her.  But would her head get too big for her whiskers?

I’ll think about it.  I’ll just put the kettle on whilst I ponder whether The Boo is destined for climate change stardom.