My scribe's cat, Annie, is plenty mad, too. Very mad. It's not her fault--she told the silly cat that it was snowing, but did Annie believe her? Not. But then cats aren't all that bright, in my estimation. Anyway, Annie yowled and yowled until my scribe finally open the slider for her. Out like a rocket she shot. But then all fours hit the snow, her hair and her tail all stood straight up. Ever so slowly, she turned her head and glowered at us. I'll swear she's been taking Clint Eastwood lessons. So then she sashayed back into the house, lifted one eyebrow chastising my scribe, then went to the furnace room and took a nap. That's where she is now. She won't even speak to my scribe, which upsets her, but I think she's lucky.
We're hoping the snow melts before morning since the only way to get on the main street from our house is by pushing the car. Too steep and not enough traction otherwise. Thankfully, it has quit snowing. Now, even though we're moldy here in Seattle, I'm praying for rain to melt all this nasty stuff.
After all, faeries do not like snow.
After all, faeries do not like snow.
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