The sub-zero stormy winter rages on.  Fences and fence posts are a wonderful way to travel.  They afford footing well above the copious mounds of snow, which for most cats, is icky to have to try to walk through. (Especially when the snow is higher than one's body). I was lucky enough not to have to deal with it today, but my fur is so thick and lush that it doesn't normally bother me anyway.  This cemetery across the street from my living space is a perfect place to hang out, I mean everyone else here was just dying to get in, and I live for that kind of exclusivity.

I am agile enough to walk across even the thinnest fence or gate, but the fence posts allow for a stopping point.  I suppose the stone markers inside would also make a good place to rest, they're certainly wide enough, but somehow, I feel that using them might be a grave mistake.

I found a new favourite spot today, on top of the centre fence post.  Now that the snow is gone, (for the moment), I was able to stretch out and enjoy the sunshine.  The top of this particular fence post is big enough so that I can roll around on it without falling off, which lets the sun at my belly and allows me to show off how super cute I am.  It is also high enough that I can see up onto the porch of my house, which helps me keep an eye on my humans.

I can see if they are about to come outside, go inside, or more importantly, are getting ready to call me in.  I have them trained now, you see.  If I see that they are about to ask me to come inside, I can disappear quickly so they can't see where I am. (I like to make them beg.  It's nice to feel important and appreciated). When they call me the first time, I wait.  Little do they know, I can see the house, and am able to discern when they are becoming desperate to have me in by the tone of their calling voices.

First, it's a long and sing-songy "Booooone-sieeee."  This happens a few times, getting slightly louder each time, until a slight edge enters the voice.  Then the calls become a still sing-songy, but slightly irritated and shorter "Boo-ooones."  Then the cold starts to get to them.  After all, this whole time, they've been hanging out the door into the winter, and let's face it, they're as furless as naked mole rats.  Now the calls come even shorter, and with more urgency.  "Bones! Here Bones!"  I still don't move, of course, because now the humans are in the right state of mind.  The door shuts for a few moments, and this is what I've been waiting for.

I use the opportunity to silently move closer to the house, so it will be a quick leap up onto the porch when I am ready.  Then, it happens.  The door opens with the human's last ditch effort to bring me inside.  This time they pull out all the stops.  I listen in the night, ears cocked toward the door. Sometimes the sound I'm waiting on is hard to hear through their now desperate attempts to call me, but then, between their frantic hollering, I hear it: the sound of the treat packet being shaken.

That's it!  I bound up onto the porch in one leap, run right past them into the warm house, and wait for them to follow me in to shower me with treats for being such a "good girl" for coming when called.  I love my humans in times like these.  First they give me treats, and then later...feed me.


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