The white stuff felt funny beneath his feet, so cold. It was supposed to be grass and dirt; birds should be plentiful. Instead, every time he looked to the heavens, his eyes and nose and cheeks met flecks of white drifting down in slow lazy circlets from the haze passing for sky that day. With every step he pulled his legs up higher and higher, wishing he could simply skate nimbly across the frozen white surface. So this was snow. With feline grace, the cat bounded back to the door to wait patiently for his human.

Time to go inside.