Snow - ICK

It snowed. I got the first snow day of the year. Probably will be a snow day tomorrow as well. Three inches and ice tends to shut down roads very effectively. I’m not complaining. Well, yes, maybe I am.
I left the house for about 45 minutes today to get some pictures of the thousands of birds eating lunch at the feeders. That was kinda cold. Especially when the snow landed on my neck, uncovered from the scarf which I just can’t seem to find in the closet that is jammed with way too many coats, gloves, mittens, boots, random athletic equipment, Christmas decorations that have never seen the light of day, and ancient vacuum cleaners (it’s the closet where things go to die).
I walk back inside, happy to be out of the cold, take two quick, dance-like steps inside the kitchen door and pirouette like a prima ballerina because the cat was staging an all-out assault to get out of the house and I had to protect the gateway to the promised land. It’s snowing for pete’s sake cat. What are you thinking? But he wasn’t able to have sane thoughts any longer; animal instinct flowed through his veins and I was what was blocking his escape to the home of his ancestors – my big backyard. A feral snarl ripped through his teeth as he crouched ready to explode into my body – tear me to shreds so he could fulfill his feline destiny and reign supreme as tabby of the neighborhood. I had one hope, one salvation that would save me from bite and scratch marks – “Here, kitty, have a treat.” It calmed the beast within him, long enough for me to shut the door – crisis averted.
All the excitement with the scary tiger-beast, now a purring gelatinous mess happy to have his kitty num-nums, left me addled for a second. And it was that second that did me in like a tray of warm, sugary, frosted doughnuts and a room full of hungry football coaches. I took the third step away from the kitchen door, on the now sopping wet, snowy tiled kitchen floor, and because I had to yet separate my aging body and frozen stiff body from my snow-covered tennis shoes I began to dance.
Imagine a frozen block of ice on ice skates maneuvering over a chasm filled with pointed rocks and sharp metal edges – yup, that was me. My legs took on minds of their own – not unlike the strange mechanical arm things that kidnap the reason and brain of Doc Oc in Spiderman II – and flailed wildly through the air – I would have pissed myself at the comical figure I must have presented but instead thoughts of hospitals and traction machines and sheer boredom filled my mind. By the pure effort of sheer will, I slip and slid and flail myself to the kitchen counter and latch on, till my feet find purchase on dry floor. I mutter a few oaths and kick my shoes off in disgust.
But wait, there’s more. On the kitchen counter that I grasped wildly at – in hopes of not breaking leg bones or my ass (I have actually broken my ass) – I slap my hand blindly on the counter, and managed to land it on the paring knife I left on the counter from last night’s dinner. It seems to have stuck in the soft, fleshy part of my palm. I gaze numbly at the knife sticking out from hand, and groan as blood begins to seep around the cut. Cold water, large bandages, a shot of whiskey, and 25 minutes later Im good as new – but determine to never the leave the house when it snows again.
All the while, my cat is sitting in the middle of the floor, sanguine, and content cuz’ he got his treats.