Snow Day

5:30 a.m.:

Marsha, my cat, wakes me up by pouncing on my face and running to the door.

I open one eye and see white light coming around the edges of the window curtain in my bedroom. Seems a little early for sunrise.

Marsha scratches at the door.

"Shaddup, damn it! Use your litter box!" I groan and hide my head under a pillow and pull the curtains over my head.

Marsha runs back into the bedroom, does a long jump and lands on my crotch. I get up and fumble for my eyeglasses. One eye open, I get out of bed, trip over Marsha while I stumble across the living room --- the floor feels colder than usual --- and open the front door. A blast of powdery snow hits me in the face. Marsha starts to go out and stops in her tracks, back half in, front half out.

"Make up your mind, Dumbass," I say as she hesitates. This is her first full winter. She spent her early kittenhood last year in the comfort of a county animal shelter cage, from which I rescued her.

She touches one front paw against the snow and runs back in the house.

6 a.m.:

I step out of the bathroom, having been physically affected by exposure to the morning chill. I make a large pot of tea. I sit down and listen to someone on National Public Radio tell me what I already know. The South has been hit by another winter snowstorm again. The roads aren't clear. It's President's Day, a good day to close all the schools and stay home.

6:30 a.m.:

Sipping an energizing cup of tea --- none of this herbal shit for me today --- I sit down at my home computer (which is placed by a window that allows me maximum view of the Cumberland Mountains, which are covered by more fucking snow) and divert my eyes from all this damned winter beauty by reading my Internet news alerts.

I learn that Heartland Publications, my evil former employer at the local newspaper, is going bankrupt and the publisher --- the one who gave me my walking papers for homophobic reasons back in 2007 --- has mysteriously disappeared from the newspaper's masthead. Good. Hope he's got warm walking shoes ...

I get up and pour more tea. Marsha is scratching at the door again. This time, when she hesitates, I give her a gentle nudge out of the door with my left foot, the one which got covered by snow when I opened the door for her last time.

Hope she's got warm walking shoes, too. Heh.

8 a.m.:


I find a shirtless picture of Apolo Ohno, the U.S. Olympic speed skater who won a silver medal over the weekend. I ponder it for a while. I download and save it for later use.

8:30 a.m.:

I shower and get dressed. I pour more hot tea into my cup. I hear Marsha scratching at the door. I take my tea into the bedroom and go back to bed.

11 a.m.:

I wake up because my tea is kicking in and go to the bathroom. Marsha is still scratching at the door. After I am done in the bathroom, I let her back in. She tracks snow across the living room and then jumps on my bed and licks her crotch for 45 minutes. Having nothing better to do --- it's a snow day and I've read all the news on the Internet --- I watch her do it.

Noon:

Having finished off half the pot of tea, I visit the bathroom. While there, I think about food. It's a lovely day for a crockpot of homemade vegetable soup. I leave the bathroom and go to the kitchen.

Marsha is waiting for me on the counter, where last night's dishes were left unwashed. She stares at me. What are you looking at, Dumbass, her eyes seem to say. She opens her mouth and confirms her thoughts by saying, "Meow."

I look at the dishes and go back to the computer room with another cup of tea and a box of Crunch 'n Munch. Time for breakfast.

12:30 p.m.

The Crunch 'n Munch isn't filling the need. I go back to the kitchen, remove Marsha from the dirty pot where she has stuck her head and fallen asleep, and start running hot water in the sink.

If there's to be vegetable soup today, it will have to follow the doing of the dishes.

12:45 p.m.

Marsha scratches at the front door again. I debate whether going with my plan for homemade vegetable soup or substituting cat stew. Stay tuned.