Mochi's First Snow

Mochi had never seen snow. She was a city cat, mostly an indoor cat, and the only weather she had any opinion about was the sound of the rain on the fire escape.

But one morning, just after sunrise, she padded into the kitchen for her usual yawn and stretch — and the window had turned white.

She stopped. She blinked. She tilted her head.

The world outside, which yesterday had been brick and brown and grey, was now soft and white and quiet. Snow was falling, slowly, in fat unhurried flakes. The neighbor's roof had a small white hat on it. The fire escape was no longer black metal but a series of white shelves.

Mochi sat on the windowsill for a long time. She did not move. She did not blink. She did not, as cats sometimes do, swish her tail. She just watched.

A pigeon walked past on the fire escape — leaving a small set of cross-shaped pigeon prints — and Mochi watched. A delivery cyclist rode past with the chain making a soft cluck-cluck — and Mochi watched. A child went by with a knit hat — bright red against the white — and Mochi watched.

And then, because it was time, the human came into the kitchen and put the kettle on. The human looked at Mochi. Mochi looked at the human.

"It's snow," explained the human, kindly. "First snow you've ever seen, hm?"

Mochi looked at the human for another long moment, and then she turned, very deliberately, and walked back to the windowsill.

She sat there all morning.

She sat there most of the afternoon.

By the time the snow had stopped, Mochi had decided that she liked it. She did not need to go outside in it — that was, after all, not the kind of cat she was — but she very much liked watching it.

That night she fell asleep on the windowsill, with one paw resting on the cold glass, dreaming a slow white dream.