Zip is a gift in many ways. One of them is to remind me when a snowstorm was not something to worry about but something to enjoy with a good book, a roaring fire, and some hot chocolate.
We have become a joyless society, angry and whiny and touchy. All we seem to hear is bad news. Storms can be very lovely news.
Winter can be wonderful and comforting; I was beginning to forget that. It’s an excellent time for taking walks, taking pictures, and just sitting in the living room dozing or being warm. Zip reminded me of the excellent side of snow storms today.
He loves to hide underneath my garden beds and peer out, looking and listening for mice.
Concern about climate change, a streak of vicious storms, hysterical media, our revolting civil strife, and weather stories make many people – me too at times – worry. Are we prepared? Will the animals be okay? Will the roof hold up?
Will the power go out? We are a gloomy nation of warnings and alarms; I can’t even mention a dog or cat without getting a bunch of warnings about them, especially in a storm.
It feels like we are a nation of victims; everyone is just waiting to complain, mistrust, and be offended.
I never post alarms on my blog or post them in my blog comments.
Alarms go out all day; I’m not contributing to them. I loved this about my Amish friends. They pay no attention to warnings at all and trust in God to keep them safe.
I was apprehensive about how young Zip, still a child in cat years, would handle a lot of snow and wind.
(Zip pouncing on a mole. He left it as a gift for me.)
I needn’t have worried. Zip is having a blast, and that is infectious. I was sitting by the fire with a good mystery and a cup of tea, Maria reading beside me. When I checked on Zip, he was busy listening for signs of life underneath the snow.
While I watched, he nailed a mole and brought it into the barn, then returned and pounced on a mouse, which he killed and brought to me as a gift.
As I cleaned off the cars, he followed me, jumping, rolling, and playing in the snow. He loved being out in it. This is a barn cat, through and through, loving us and the outdoors.
I noticed that cats do some of their best hunting in the snow when moles, voles, and mice come out of their holes looking for food. I can’t hear them, but cats can, and Zip is having a perfect time. I took some pictures (duh.)
Bud’s snow headquarters was the porch, where he could look through the door glass and inside the farmhouse. This happens when he has come to meet with me or bring me a gift.
He gets irritated if I take too long. He has quite a stair. Too bad.
I realized today that the snow is great for him, we see the footprints in the snow of mice and moles and chipmunks all the time. Zip hears them moving. He is a born hunter. Above, he snared a mouse.
The back porch is a monitoring point for Zip; he listens for noise under the snow, creeps over to it, hovers, and then pounces. He kills these small creatures quickly and sometimes hides them in the barn. Zip is fascinating to me, I’ve never known an animal who was so affectionate and murderous at the same time.
