A couple days ago we had nine inches of snow to add to the half-foot already on the ground. The cat sits in the window, transfixed by a pine bough which is partly buried in the drifts on the sunporch roof. The captive bough waves in the wind and the cat will watch anything that moves. Rather like your average heavy television viewer.

Speaking of cats...I don't read much sf anymore but this story by Mike Resnick, at Asimov's, is a classic. Travels With My Cats.

Maybe it appealed to me, in part, because Mary and I have been doing some research into the late Victorian period when traveling lady writers flourished.