Every day, a photograph, a poem. Our cat, as I’ve mentioned, is mostly wild. She is bold and unafraid, but cautious, loving the hunt of flying insects and an occasional bird in the backyard. It’s what she lives for, but now it is winter.
She taps our legs for us to follow to let her out the door, but immediately the sound of dripping, pouring rain on melted, icy snow stops here. A breezed blows her soft fur and she steps back inside, running to the living room to check out the window so she can watch and grumble.
Is the rain still pouring?Sheri Edwards
Are birds hopping in the snow?
Why is that leaf dancing along the sidewalk?
Where did that black cat go?
Why is winter so boring?
1381 days of posts in a row on Ask What Else