The Wind tells me to lay low. To slink beneath the house or better yet to hide inside its sturdy walls. Frost has long since bitten the leaves to brown, the grass is stiff and colorless. Grey dominates the landscape. The Cold stings my paws as I hurry along the stone walkway.
Hurry, Hurry. Ignore the birds. Pass by the mice in the foundation. Resist the hunt.
Find warm sanctuary from the Storm.
Black and white behind the kitchen window, nose pressed in worry to the glass.
I watch from inside and wait. Wait. Wait.....
Winter is Coming.
-Mister Claudius
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