This morning, I awoke to a shocking discovery: the entire world had been replaced with a giant bowl of cold, white nonsense. A full foot of it. Everywhere. The yard, the driveway, the trees — all buried under what I can only assume is sky‑trash.

Naturally, I positioned myself at my observation post: the window ledge. Hot Dog Lady has placed a warm bed there, which I have graciously accepted as my throne for the day. The heating vent below hums like a loyal servant. My fur is warm. My paws are tucked. My eyes are at half‑mast. I am, in short, thriving.

Outside, the humans are… doing things. I can’t be bothered to track the details. Someone is shoveling. Someone is pushing a loud machine. Someone is throwing snowballs. Someone is screaming about snow down their coat. It’s all very dramatic, but I am far too cozy to assign names to any of it.

At one point, a small human flopped into the snow and began waving their limbs like they were trying to summon help. Another one ran past dragging a sled and yelling something about going “faster.” Hot Dog Lady trudged by with a shovel, muttering words I cannot repeat in polite feline society. Dad was out there too, I think, but honestly, everyone looks the same when they’re bundled up like overstuffed burritos.

I stretched. I yawned. I blinked slowly at their suffering.

They chose to go outside.
I chose warmth, blankets, and dignity.

Occasionally, a gust of wind blows a swirl of snowflakes against the window, and I pretend I’m in a nature documentary about majestic winter predators. But then I remember winter predators actually go outside, and I am far too important for that.

The humans eventually came back in, red‑cheeked and panting, shedding snow like wet dogs. I did not move. I did not acknowledge them. I simply tightened my loaf and resumed my nap.

Let them battle the elements.
I will remain here, queen of the warm places, ruler of the indoor kingdom, unbothered by the chaos of winter.

— Pookie, Cozy Sovereign of the Window Bed, Observer of Snow‑Foolish Humans