Cold weather | A Scheltered Life

I know, I know—by now this is an old story. But dang it. I just want warmth. No more being cold; no more wearing layers, even if it helps hide my “winter fat” that I wisely put on this past fall. Okay, lazily put on, but it’s still there.

My dog, Annie (Rottweiler-mix), loves to go outside, but I have to watch her closely through the window because like any child she doesn’t know enough to come in when she’s cold. I have to watch for her to systematically lift her paws because they are too cold.

Three cats live us. They are indoor/outdoor cats. At least they used to be. In this cold they are now indoor/indoor. I have a heated house for the back porch and a heated water bowl. An animal is using them, but none of our cats are! (I fear it’s Dan the Possum. My daughter is hoping it is.)

The cats, for the most part, aren’t that much of a nuisance. Our oldest and grumpiest cat, Martin, has reached an impasse with Annie and he only growls and hisses occasionally at her. (Annie will be two this spring, is about 70 pounds, and has no idea that she is big or that any cat in the world might not love her!)

The only time I have an issue with the cats is when my girls go to their dad’s house. My youngest is a cat magnet. When she’s not at my home, I become the substitute for their attention. This means I have all three of them sleeping on my bed. I use the term “sleeping” very loosely. They sleep, then around 2:30 a.m. the two kittens feel it’s playtime. That, in turn, wakes Annie who runs around the bed trying join them. This hullabaloo usually irritates Martin so he mews, growls, and hisses on his way to my chair. After the children decide playtime is done they both gather at my head, begging to get under my blankets. After about 15 minutes they are begging to get out from under the blankets, to venture as far as my face. They love my face. At 3:30 in the morning.