Special Snowflake
Missile does not know what the snow is called, nor why it falls. Even so, he needs none of it to see it is coming. Whenever the winter grows stale grey and the air has that cold, clean smell, it is also time for him to wag his tail furiously, to celebrate the arrival of one of his favourite things.
It is something he likes very much, the light white thing that swirls down from the sky. There is always a lot of it, a whole lot, and it rushes to every corner of the park — it gives him a new flake to chase each second, in a whirlwind of happy barks. It is a good chance for him to bark. Nobody ever complains about it in the open. He can talk to the snow, as much as he wants.
It is also soft, soft like Miss Kamila and Miss Lynne, when they all sleep on the couch in a bundle of blankets. The first time he sank his muzzle in it, he was thinking of wool and warm skin; itstartled him to meet the same cold of the wind. Still, his amazement did not last long — that feeling of soft ice was not exactly new.
The kitten by his side is much like the snow, despite the sharp black colour that breaks the continuity of today's scenery. He trots at ease, wise and sure, unaware of any difference.
It is from him that Missile learnt to ignore the cold, to nuzzle close and nap anyway. He is a strange little cub with such strange rules — he broke the habit of all his other contacts, of associating the sweet warmth of living things to fur and soft skin.
It takes them a glance to start playing again, and Missile does not care that he can feel no difference between him and the snow. He stopped minding many other things since Sissel came along, like the gentle sway of other cats' tails from Miss Lynne's windows. He is different, even in that. Missile may not be able to tell why, but he does not care about it, either.
They are content with rolling on, in a merry game of their own that has no defined end. Now, Missile is absolutely sure this is one of the things that makes him happy. Sissel is like the falling snow, like the park and the smell of the sky. He has no explanation for the different signals, the affection, the little winter that is always inside this cat — but he has him as a friend, and it is enough.
Come to think of it, they have always been friends. Missile doesn't need a reason for that.
They run to the snowdrifts by the trees, never waiting for a chance to talk.
Emergency pinch-hit for mutalieju, for the Ghost Swap exchange at fyeahghosttrick on Tumblr. I did my best to write on such a short notice, and I can't promise much, but I am so glad your prompt came along! I think I'll need my teeth checked tomorrow, after such cavity-inducing fluff. Here is what I managed, accompanied by the sweet notes of Nightwish's Taikatalvi.
Prompt: Sissel and Missile, adorable kitty and doggy fluff, it being winter-related is a big plus.