The Wicked White

The kitten shook the clumping snow from her paws and sneezed away the water on her whiskers.

“Mew” she cried, begging for a tall cat to hear her.

The wind was cold. The snow freezing in her fur and around her paws. She gingerly gnawed a chunk from between her toes. She was sure she wanted to explore this new white world, but it was not the wonderland she expected.

“Mew, mew” she cried again, as she tumbled deep into the despicable solid wetness.

Crawling out took much effort. She lay in the unrelenting wind, panting, thirsty, but there was no water to be had, just white wickedness. The ice in her fur was painful and her paws had long since grown numb.

A light appeared, she inched toward it, every inch a battle. Light might be danger, but it might be warmth. She crawled until her heavy paws hit something different. Her numb toe beans stung as she touched it, hard and grey, but before her was an insurmountable cliff of this hard ground. She could see a tall cat through the impassable clear.

She cried for the tall cat to help her.

The squeal of metal on metal, and joyously the voice of a tall cat, her tall cat. “There you are Panda! I was so worried.”

The kitten found herself scooped up and wrapped in dry warm cloth.

“Bet you won’t do that again.” The tall cat pressed her face to Panda’s. “Let’s get you warmed up.”