As the shovels came out for the first real snow of the season, my mind slipped into North’s last winter. We knew his back legs were weakening but were struck that he needed us to blaze the trail through the foot+ snow. The old guy that use to bound through the snow was stuck. He was like every aging creature thinking surely he could do what he’d always done, until he couldn’t. I stomped the path. The guy that loved snow, winter, would have only been able to stare at it. What the hell fun is that. While shoveling the deck I pictured creating heaps of snow so once most had melted he’d still have a pile to lay in. On the upside we don’t deal with the shaking of snow inside because he just didn’t sense the need to shake while outside.
I have shifted over to the path Zoey needs to steal quickly along the house and down the steps to pee without getting her delicate paws wet. Oh yes, and I have switched to referencing Zoey as our Dat. She has stepped up to be more than the cat. Or, maybe we never had time to notice before. She always came to her name better than North ever did, but she now begs for our food, and has continued to guard the house from the stairway at night.