Forget about catching mice, it’s easy compared to this…Forget about birds, they are cake compared to this…Circumnavigating the neighborhood by rooftop is boring compared to this…Torturing the Big Owner? Effortless, compared to this…What is it that I have a hard time with? Catching snowflakes.

Snowflakes are strange creatures that fall from the sky. There’s no telling when they will launch their invasions. They are infrequent; sometimes it is months, even years, between attacks. Most often I am sitting by the window on a cold winter’s day when I see scout flakes begin their descent from above. Small, tiny granules floating down, most likely searching for our vulnerable spots to guide the armada that is often just behind. When these attacks occur I am mostly relegated to window duty. It frustrated me, because I wanted to be on the front lines.

When the first surprise flakes of the season arrived today (weather guys on human TV never get it right)  I, without fail, got excited. A few laps around the house and the humans were alerted. The kids get animated by the first wave, particularly if they are up early preparing for school. “Snow Day!” they screamed, and dashed back to bed – I assume to hide. The Big Owner was more pragmatic. “Oh, ____,” he mumbled. Or something like that. I was already on my way back to my window perch.

The scout flakes soon rested on the ground and the full incursion began. Big, fruity flakes were falling. Gently fluttering down from the sky, some rocking back and forth as they fell, and each snowflake’s dance was a lure to my eye. All of them, it seemed, were begging to be caught by me, the cat.  As I sat at the window it was almost torture for me. The flakes were as big as feathers, and I could swear each one was calling out my name. Worse, they were taunting me as they fell to the ground blending in with the other flakes as if to hide from me. There was safety in numbers. I stood on my hind legs at the window, front paws high on the pane, in pain, wishing I could get at them and show them a thing or two.

My prayers were answered. The Big Owner strolled through the house with shovel in hand and announced to the family, “I’ve got to clear some of this snow.” Wait! I meowed. Let me go, too. I’ll catch some of those baby’s for you. I followed him out the door into the cold, directly into the line of fire.

First thing I noticed: It’s quiet. For an invasion of this magnitude it surprised me how quiet the enemy can be. They must have learned it from cats: Stealth. I have a worthy opponent, I thought to myself. So while the Big Owner man-handled the snowflakes on the ground with his shovel, I used my paws and targeted the ones coming down. Those were the aggressors.

There were so many I knew I could catch a paw full with one single swipe, or so I thought. I waved my paw at the flakes. They were so light, I couldn’t even feel if I caught one. I looked at my paw. Nothing. I swatted again into the air. Whiff. How could I miss? I lifted both paws, aiming at the biggest flake near me. I cupped my fur-pads around the crystal prize. Aha! Got it! I opened my paws to …nothing.

I jumped, I twirled, I spun, I smacked, I whacked, I smacked, I wore myself out trying to catch one of those little buggers, but came up with a big fat nothing. Not a single snowflake, even ones that seemed as big as my paw were as mysteriously allusive as the smaller ones. As soon as they hit my furry pad, they seemed to disappear into thin air. Magic? I thought. I could almost hear them laughing as the untouched flakes joined the other survivors in the safety of the white carpet of snow on the ground. The only thing I caught was a cold.

“He’s stupid,” I heard the Big Owner talking to the kids as we went back inside. Was he talking about me? “The snowflakes melted when they hit his paw,” he told them. “Funniest thing I’ve seen that cat do in a long time.” He called me out! I’ll show him.

This afternoon the snow continues to fall, and because of his insults I will continue to try to capture a snowflake alive. It’s not easy work. It’s the hardest thing I’ve ever done. But I’m out here, whirling and twirling, spiking and striking. And when I catch one I’ll bring it in to the Big Owner while he’s sitting in his chair and personally drop it in his lap. He’ll wish it was a mouse. Until then…

It was a good day.

 Copyright 2009, Mark Mason, All Rights Reserved

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