To be a cat in the snow

I heard my first red-winged blackbird of the year this morning, walking from the parking lot into work. I’m lucky - blessed - that the office park is right next to the Merrimack River. The cattail marshes and small streams meander down to the river, and the parking lot is in the middle of the waters. Even though we finally have snow and ice and clear, cold mornings, I heard the red-winged blackbirds, the call a rasping trill almost like the noise of dial-up internet, if dial-up was perfected and the sound drew you out to walk along the waterside, and I knew spring was almost here. 

But I’m here to talk about Mospy! 

Mopsy is our small, black cat who loves chaos. If there is a place in the apartment where we’re trying to  keep mementos or plants safe, Mopsy will be there, with a look of innocence as she tears apart our plans. But we love Mopsy, my wife and I, for all of her rascally ways, and I especially love the way she looks at snow. Like I said, we haven’t had much snow this year, but the first time it snowed, Mopsy sat in front of our big, bay windows and stared up at the snow as it fell. I know she’s likely just playing, but I like to think she has a unique appreciation for the beauty of the falling snow. After all, Buckets, our other sweetheart cat, loves play more than anyone, and the snow doesn’t hold him wrapt in the same way. And I though Mospy’s rapture would be just a first time thing, but every time snow falls, Mopsy is there, green eyes turned towards the heavens, flashing from flake to flake as they resolve, pure white from the white sky.

I don’t usually desire to be like Mopsy, but when the snow falls, I long to see it like she does.