December 8 ~ Catada
in
"Snowmobiling"
Hi there. I'm Canada Cat. I'm more coat than cat. My tan-and-white fur grows in thick, fluffy layers just like my human's padded parka to protect me from the snow. I'm fond of the tufts of fur growing between my toes as well. They're soft insulation against the elements, and every evening I give them a proper cleaning in front of the TV.
Most of my time in the winter is spent in front of the TV. It's not that I'm lazy. All cats have to have a good night's rest, and a midmorning nap, and an evening's loafing, too. I get plenty of exercise during that hour I beg my human to let me outside, and during meal preparation when I sit on the counter and reach my paw out to grab his sweater. I feel so bad about clawing the nice knitted sweaters he gets from his neighbor Russia, but if I'm not assertive in some way, I'll never get any chicken treats.
Today is another lovely day indoors at our northwest Ontario cabin. All morning I've been napping on the couch, next to the fish-patterned pillows and in perfect view of the soda stains left on the handmade side table from the last time my human's brother was over. The sun is up now, and it's like a whole winter's worth of snow fell last night to cover everything. It's so packed in that the crunching of tires on the driveway was what woke me up from my nap.
"What will I watch today?" I purr to myself, gripping at the cushion. I reach out and try to handle the remote between my paws, but my toes are too chubby to act as button-pushers. I pull it toward me and press my nose into the power button, but the angle is off, so I have to take up the remote in my teeth and fiddle my paws until my back heel hits it just the right way. The TV comes on.
"—on the Big Comfy Couch~!"
Oh, I like watching this show. Partly because it's about a couch, and partly because it was hard enough getting the TV on. I'm not going to waste my energy trying to change the channels, too.
"Hey, cat! Fat cat! Look at you! Guess what we're doing today!? We got powder for the snowmobile, right? We got Christmas music, right? Time to go!"
In an instant, my human wraps his gloved hands around my body and flips me on my back to squeeze me around the belly. It's so scratchy, but I'm too nice to bite. I want to bite, but it won't be any use anyway, and… gah, his gloves are so cold! I bite down on the padding, and he releases.
But then he lifts me up from the couch and squishes me against his chest to rub his soft, chilled cheeks against my fur. I squirm and whine until he holds me looser.
"I'll cuddle with you if you take off all this gear! Scratchy coat, scratchy gloves," I meow. "Put on that nice sweater I like to get hair all over."
My human doesn't hear me. He's all geared up — boots, snow pants, three flannels, coat, face mask with sweaty, frosty hockey hair flying out in curls underneath, and his winter toque — another knitted gift from Russia. His neon green helmet rests over near the door. I'm doomed to his wishes. It's not that I dislike snowmobiling, but on an day like today? Everything is so white outside, and plenty of exercise can be done indoors. Like… like the Clock Stretch! We can move the couch and do a Clock Stretch! I'm a cat! I'm excellent at stretching!
No use. My human just came back from picking up his neighbor's trailer. He's got the snowmobile all loaded up, and the exhaust pipe on his deep red pickup is steaming and sweating. He squishes me against his chest, shuts off the TV, and carries me outside. On the passenger's side of the truck is a ragged blanket for me to curl up in while we're driving to the trails. My human discards his coat in the back, cranks up the Christmas music as loud as it will go, and we're off.
It's about an hour's drive. We're heading deep into the wilderness, driving slow on gravel roads at times. We stop once to make sure the sled is gassed up, then get to meeting my human's friends at the trailhead.
"Agent Ottawa!" The voices chant. "Agent Ottawa's here! Did he bring his cat again? Ottawa! You bring your cat!?"
Agent Ottawa is my human's nickname among the snow crew. He has it custom-stitched on the back of his snowmobile jacket. I don't think he knows how to change the TV channels either.
Once we're parked and unloaded, my human shuts off the heat and the music, and I"m lifted out of my nest. The cold air hits my ears with a violent whoosh! My human sees this, and he 's quick to tuck me inside the pouch sewn on the inside of his jacket. He can zip it up to his chest, where my head sticks out, then bundles himself up in an extra scarf. His goggles are on, and he's ready.
"Just the regular loop today, guys. Overcast sky means the lakes might not be safe. Try to stay close to me, and we'll stop at the warming house about halfway through. Please get your potty breaks done now. I also got hot water and Swiss Miss if anyone gets too cold. The kind with marshmallows just for you, Dale," My human says.
The rest of the group thanks him, while also reaching their hands out to pat my head. I duck low in my jacket pouch. "The regular loop" is still a long ride.
With the roaring of the engines and the bitter smell of exhaust, we mount the mechanical steed and rocket off onto the snowy trail, with ancient trees on either side of us. "Agent Ottawa" leads the pack, his goggled and helmeted face showing no emotion. I dig my claws into the fabric keeping me squished tightly against my human's chest as I watch the scenery fly by. My whiskers collect falling flakes of snow, and I sneeze.
Powder flies out beneath in swaths of billowing white. When the sun cracks through a patch of matted clouds, it sparkles just like magic. Maybe it is magic. There's so much about this place that has yet to be explored. I like to stay on my couch and imagine the world outside, but when I'm actually forced to get out, the possibilities grow slimmer. I'm seeing the world, as we bounce up and down, over miniature hills, around ridges of ancient rock pushed around and eroded by glaciers and trickling streams — frozen now, of course.
I raise my head a little higher out of the pouch and survey the landscape. The trees are thicker now. We've gone from sparse birches into full, flush dark green firs that litter the ground with old needles and perfume the air with their strong, sharp scent. The smell is making me hungry. I'd love to snack on some grass if I could see any under all the snow. I tried to eat a pinecone once, and there are plenty of those around here. My tail flips around behind me when I think about the crunch, and I have to wriggle around so it isn't cramped.
The trail gets curvy now. My nose and lips are all numb from the cold, so I hunch down and try to lick them the best I can while my human leans left and right to turn. Luckily he's a safe rider, not a speed demon, so I don't have to worry too much about being thrown out into the snow. Only a healthy channel of freezing wind streams over our heads. When it's too cold to watch the trees slip by, I can curl up all safe and warm in my pouch with the darkness and the rumbling of the engine to comfort me. Just a gentle vibration.
"WOAH, OKAY! SLOW DOWN! SLOW DOWN! STOP! MOOSE! MOOSE!"
The sled gives a huge jerk. I rip my head up out of the pouch and hiss in fear at the huge, shaggy brown shape rushing toward us. Or, I guess we're rushing right towards it. The moose has walked right up from the ditch onto the trail and refuses to move. He looks at us and twitches his ears, but gives no reaction.
My human squeezes the brakes so hard that his gloved hands are shaking, all while whipping back and forth to shout at the people behind us. There's a harsh-sounding crash of metal as two riders slam into each other. There's one whump in the snow, but only after I hear the sleds come to a stop. Our front sled slows, slows, my human swerves closer and closer to the moose. When we stop, he makes no movements. One gloved hand gently presses my head back down into the pouch. I meow and squirm, but the padding is too scratchy to fight against. I'm locked in my little fabric prison as the encounter goes down.
That moose is startled. My human has put the sled in neutral, but doesn't dare shut it off in fear the animal will charge. My breathing quickens. I can help! Let me out!
"Stay calm. Stay quiet," I remember my human saying. I slow my motions. We only have to wait for the moose to move. I catch a glance through a crack in my human's fingers. It's making eye contact with me. Those large dark eyes and snuffling nostrils and perking ears and rippling hump.
Suddenly, I'm roasting. My human's chest heats up like a furnace, and I'm heating up, too. The fir trees grow greener in my vision. The snow grows whiter, and beneath I feel the pulsing heat of the planet, this great Canadian shield, as it moves and flows through the primal rock. It's that odd state of nations we go into sometimes. The earth becomes alive to us, and the culture of people becomes visible.
"Go on. Move. We won't hurt you, friend," my human says. I can hear his voice through his helmet because it's my voice, too. Canada can speak to wildlife when we really try.
The moose's head lowers. He feels calmer, relaxed by the presence of his Country. Then he lifts his gangly legs and stumbles off the trail into the woods beyond.
My human shuts off the sled and turns to the others. "Everyone okay? Stay calm. Dale's not hurt, right? Just jumpy? Everyone relax. Breathe."
We breathe in. We breathe out. The warmth in our chests grows, and we feel it spreading to the citizens around us. Normally this process is involuntary, but everyone's a little shaken after that encounter.
"You guys wanna pet my cat?" My human asks. "He won't mind. He's great at helping me stay calm."
So much scratchiness! No!
~N~
Russia, Austria, and England are the needlework trio. Canada knits, too, but is better at woodworking, so he and Russia trade.
Updated by Syntax-N on FanFiction . Net December 8th, 2020. No repost!