|Todd the Shoveler|
|A Man and His Cat|
|Bootsy Inspecting the Pavement|
|Visitor for Coffee on the Porch|
And then I watch Todd widen the narrow strip of our driveway from packed snow with his square farm shovel, the one so heavy that I can hardly lift it, the one he likes because it won't break like the plastic ones. Elmira snow is dense--waterlogged last week and now sculpted ice. I want a snow cat.
As if on cue with my rambling thoughts, Bootsy sees Todd pause in his shoveling and she trots to him on the path he's cleared. She is an impressive snow cat. From my bedroom upstairs I can see her tracks in the snow. She hunts the north pasture for buried mice and trails home, passing below my bedroom window.
Bootsy has no complaint about the snow. Her fur is thick and her pads hairy. She's elegant in the snow, this outdoor tuxedo cat. At one time she stayed far from us, rarely making her presence known. Now she's like one of the family. She greets me on the porch and we often share a cup of coffee. She's crazy, my snow cat. Not only does she prowl the snow she also tries to lick at my coffee.
But Bootsy is not the snow cat I'm wanting. It would be incredible to own the machine that has treads for trundling over snow like a tank, with a plow mounted on front to clear our drive in a few swipes. Todd could even use it to pack his trail from the wood barn and tie the sled behind it to haul our source of heat.
If I had a snow cat, I'd drive out on the pastures and explore the snowshoe rabbit trails, visit my neighbor and look for elk and moose. If I had a snow cat, I'd joy ride the strip of land that runs at the base of the mountain ridge and look for old ranch houses or abandoned moonshine stills.
Bootsy steps up on the porch and I sit. She stands on my lap, kneading my thigh with her claws, purring. And I'm reminded to be satisfied with what I have.
Linking up with Abracabadra for Wordless Wednesday. Photos by Charli Mills.