Snow Cat

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Snowmageddon, eh? Pain in the arse but it’s no bad if you’re sitting nice and cosy with a wee drink and some munchies. No needing to brave the cold. Keeping yerself nice and warm as a The Beast From The East tears through Scotland.

 

Right now I’m no doing any of that. I’m instead chittering one of those wee bastards in Ice Age. Here’s why.  


I’m sitting there, quite the thing when I start hearing panicked gasps and yelling. It’s my Mum. She’s shouting that our cat is stuck. “He’s stuck, he’s out in the middle of the road in the snow. Oh no he can’t move.” That’s all I hear. All I need to hear before sprinting into action. No way is that wee bugger going to fall victim to this Day After Tomorrow weather. 


So I fling my shoes on and fucking high tail out of the house. Sprinting through 2 feet of snow, no caring that I’m in my joggy bottoms and a t shirt you can piss through. I’m on a missing. I’m running to rescue the cat. Like an action hero Doctor Dolittle. Running like Tom fucking Cruise after a heavy meal.


I see the neighbours start coming to the window. Watching me. Looking on. Hands covering their mouth. “Oh my”, they must be thinking. “Such bravery”.  I hold my hands up - to tell them it’s alright. I’m no hero - just doing what is right.


As I approach the dark figure scuttling in the snow in the middle of the road, I brace myself. Its desperately trying to escape. So I bend down, squinting my eyes in the darkness. That’s when I see it. 

Turns out it was a bin bag and our was sitting in the house the whole time. 

Fucking snow. 

Chris Patrick