I used to feel jealous that the East Coast got important-sounding named hurricanes and all we ever got were anonymous storms. Now I'm not so sure.
Who names these things, anyway?
We are in the middle of a Not-Blizzard. It looks like a blizzard, feels like a blizzard, and sounds like a blizzard, but it's Not. Not unless the meteorological powers-that-be decide to call it one. So we're stuck referring to "Gandolf, the Not-Blizzard". Sounds real intimidating, doesn't it?
Uh-huh.
But this is what it looks like....
On my way into work this morning....
On my way home an hour and a half later...
On my way down to get Caleb in the afternoon....
Ha-ha. Just kidding. That last one is a photo of a white sheet of paper, but it was practically the same thing. Which brings us to Fulton....
Fulton Montmorency III is my mother's formerly feral cat. He came to visit us for a week so he wouldn't starve to death while she was in California. Fulton already believed he was a house cat, and his visit to our kitty paradise only served to confirm what he already knew. Why shiver out in the cold when you can be snuggling up in someone's bed? Sadly, my dad and he differ in their opinions. My dad made him a palace outside, complete with heated bed and water dish. Fulton said, "Peh."
He tried to fit back in to his natural lot in life---he really did. He went home for one whole afternoon, but his toes got cold. Unable to endure the hardship, Fulton returned to us.
Now he is struggling to survive another harsh winter storm...from the easy chair.
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| "I'm cold. Throw another cat on, will ya'?" |
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