Cold Noses, Warm Drama
After a busy week of events at Roll-ups and Candy bars (or whatever dis place is called) this coming week will be quiet to start with, which, as any respectable feline will tell you, is both a blessing and a personal affront. On the one paw, fewer humans means more time to practice my winter loaf—compact, aerodynamic, optimized for heat retention. On the other paw, it’s harder to collect compliments if there aren’t enough bipeds to admire me every eleven minutes. Dilemma.
The cold has decided to clock in now this year. At night it sneaks through the door like a draft with bad manners and nips my whiskers. I have responded by rediscovering every soft surface in the shop and rotating between them like I’m running a quality-control audit. The carpet by the electric fireplace? Acceptable. The armchair with the ugly zebra and green pillow? Acceptable, but could use additional cat. Your lap if you sit still long enough? Ah—finally, luxury. Consider yourself vetted.
This week’s forecast: quiet shelves, cozy corners, and me looking devastatingly gorgeous while pretending not to notice you noticing. If I blink at you very slowly, it’s not sentiment; it’s a warning that your snack should be shared immediately. We all do what we can to keep spirits up in the chill.
Speaking of spirits, Anniston’s Neewollah on Main is coming up—yes, “Halloween” spelled backwards, which is terribly clever if you’re human and moderately interesting if you’re a cat. I’m legally obligated (shop policy) to tell you it’s a fun, family-friendly shindig with costumes and bustle and all things festive. From my perspective? It’s… fine. Loud shoes, rustling capes, miniature witches who squeal at my face like I’m a celebrity cameo. I accept tributes in the form of gentle head scritches and silent awe. No capes near the belly, please. Belly has boundaries.
If you stop by the shop before or after the festivities, consider bringing news, gossip, or at least a warm hand. The wind at night makes the front door creak in a spooky, theatrical way, and while I am absolutely not frightened (obviously), I am invested in supervision. I supervise better if I’m being admired. Cause and effect. Quiet weeks are funny; they make small things grand. The soft thud of a book closing. The way the heater clicks on and I pretend I didn’t jump. Even the plants are doing their little winter shimmy under the fan, like they’re rehearsing for Neewollah, too. I strut by, give them the look, and they sway a little harder. Star power has that effect.
So: bundle up, bring your best costume (or your best cardigan), and remember—Neewollah is delightful for humans, tolerable for cats, and vastly improved by a respectful nod in my direction. I’ll be stationed near the warmest patch of light, auditioning laps, and pretending the cold is part of my aesthetic.
If you need me, follow the sound of satisfied purring and the faintest rattle of a treat jar. I’ll be the one acting aloof while saving you a seat
-The Cat VonD