The one-to four-inches of snow forecast by local meteorologists delivered roughly fourteen inches of sticky, heavy, whiteness.Â Oops!Â Apparently the Doppler radar had a hiccup or the teleprompter said 1 4 which was read by the highly trained –and paid–professional weather guru as one-to-four instead of fourteen.Â No matter, we were pounded, and will have a white Christmas ala Bing Crosby’s dreams of long ago.
Our trees and outdoor objectsâ€”like railings and birdfeedersâ€”took on Dr. Seuss-ish shapes, all lumpy and tilted and strange. Â Despite the challenge of finding the black oil sunflower seeds beneath the thick snow, the birds flocked to the feeders in hungry masses.Â They fluttered and cheeped and took turns stuffing their beaks with food before trading places with a famished chickadee or cardinal.
Pudgy, our cat, noted the motion and crept towards the ruckus in stealth mode.Â Flattened to the floor she slowly made her way to the bench beneath the window.Â It was like watching stop-motion Claymation, except slightly more realistic.
Eyes like black marbles coated in dandelion dust, Pudgy twitched and watched in excitement as she neared the feeding birds.Â Little mewlings came from her tension, almost as if primitive ancestors squeezed the sounds from her lungs.Â True, the cougar lineage of her imagination probably would have roared or growled, but mewling works if you believe hard enough.
Iâ€™m never sure what she hopes to accomplish.Â After all there is a hefty sheet of glass between her and the birds.Â And, note to birds… with as much effort as she puts into the process of reaching the bench, you could at least act scared.Â But, you donâ€™t.Â In fact, you donâ€™t pay any attention to her at all.
Pudgy sometimes remains at her post for hours. Â If I have a moment I’ll pop by and watch with her.Â She purrs a bit as if appreciating my concern for the seriousness of the bird invasion.
I sorta-kinda envy her visceral response to the nascent cougar within.Â I wish I could find my inner-cougar, but if I were to say that to someone theyâ€™d think Iâ€™m just a horny older woman looking for young male flesh.
No, what I mean is that I want to act with the wildness that comes naturally with my official status as a woman. Which, as it turns out, is in direct opposition to the goody two-shoe restrictions I place on being, well, me.Â Watching Pudgy live her dreamsâ€¦it was the best part of my day.