The cats didn't know, eh.

So it's about 10 p.m. last night and they're yelling to be let out because this is a good time to take down a few unsuspecting rodent type critters. I do my best to hide my evil smirk, open the door, the two of them tear out on to the porch and ...

They skid through about an inch of extremely wet snow, barely get the brakes on before the steps.

You can almost see the "WTF" thought balloons over their little heads; they do a double take that would bring tears of recognition to any B movie actor on the planet. It's not that the cats haven't experienced snow, it's just that the first snow always freaks them. Me, I'm laughing like a loon because ... umm, because I'm just too easily amused, I guess.

Zoe, especially cracks me up. I think she was out all of about ten minutes before she started pounding on the porch window, yelling to be let in. The thermometer is hovering at freezing so it really isn't that cold out, but as far as Zoe is concerned it is now officially Stupidly Cold.

When I opened the door she ignored me completely. Me, I'm just the cat doorman, you know? She ran right to the woodstove, flopped down limply on the hot tiles just inches from the stove, and began sucking down every thermal unit she could get. You would have thought the cat had been out on a six month Arctic expedition.

Once winter really comes, Zoe won't be sticking her nose out the door at all. She will observe winter through a window, because she firmly believes that's all she really needs to know about that particular season, thankyouverymuch.

Fortunately, this snow was pretty much melted when I got up, which is a major blessing, eh. They're calling for very nice weather over the weekend which we REALLY need because .:ahem:. our new roof still isn't finished. Sigh.

(That soft thud thud thud sound you hear in the background is me hitting my head on the mousepad because I thought things would be done by now. Just so's you know, eh.)

When hitting my head on the mousepad doesn't provide adequate relief from stress, (I know, it's hard to believe, but there are times when It's Just Not Enough) then I take my problems to Trained Professionals.

Meet my Guatemalan worry dolls.

These men, women and children are professional worrywarts. The way they work is that whenever you have problems you take them out of their little box and whisper your problems to them. Then you put them back in the box and slip it under your pillow. You hit the hay relaxed and assured that your worries are in the hands of folks who LIVE for this kind of stuff.

Being professionals and all, they're also VERY discreet. You can tell them ANYTHING, eh, and never worry about them blabbing it around.

Now some folks would say it's not really the dolls, that saying your problems out loud helps you organize your thoughts, puts your worries in perspective and helps you to relax.

Sheesh, isn't it incredible, the nonsense some folks spout?

Me, I don't believe that for a second.

Trained Professionals. That's my opinion and I'm sticking to it.