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Its minus 30, with a windchill that makes it feel closer to minus 40 frigid but not unusual for February in Canada.

Im about as bundled up as I can be, with only my eyes showing, as I shovel through the three-foot high snow drift on my deck. Let me point out, this is not normal winter behavior for a summer lover like me, who would far rather be inside, snuggled under a quilt, sipping wine, and losing myself in some sappy romance on Netflix.

My fingers are freezing, my head is sweating, and I really dont want to be out here.

But this is an act of love for the furry creature watching me from the warm side of the living room window. This is Mozart, who has driven me berserk for the last 15 years. The terror of the neighborhood who silences the birds as he saunters by, makes squirrels flee to the treetops, and sharpens his claws on every new piece of furniture I own.

This cat, "temporarily" handed to me by a daughter whose landlord did not allow pets. This cat, who ended up staying, and gradually working his way into my resistant heart.

This cat, who watched his entire feline family cross the rainbow bridge, and who is now too old and sick for wandering in the cold as he has in winters past. Now, he relies on me to carve out a small, snow-free spot for him to perch for a few minutes and watch the world go by.

Relentless storms nearly made the deck disappear this year. The snow filled it up like an ice cream bowl, and the freezing rain gave it a shiny glaze. It would be pretty, if it wasnt as heavy as concrete, building an ache in my back with each shovelful.

From his perch behind the glass, Mozart flicks his tail in fascination. Maybe hes thinking, "Crazy Master. Doesnt she know I detest that white stuff, and Ill only poke my head out there for a minute before Im ready to go back in?"

What he doesnt know is that its that minute of joy that Im labouring for. That little window of time when the bounce returns to his aging legs, and he lifts that pink, heart-shaped nose in the air and takes a deep, delightful whiff of fresh air.

Blame all of this on the neighborhood squirrel, who paid us a visit a few hours ago. The cunning little beast balanced on the back of the deck chair, taunting the cat to make his move, knowing full well that the glass would protect him. Mozart clawed at the pane in vain, and the squirrel only moved in closer, and then smugly bounced off, leaving his former stalker defeated and sad.

Dont get me wrong. I love squirrels. The bowl of peanuts that I leave out for this cheeky fur ball can attest to that. But his brash behavior made me hurt for Mozart, whose ego deflated right before my eyes. He may never be the terror of the neighborhood again, but at the very least, he can still be the champion of the deck.

So, I shovel until there is just enough space for my old friend to wander and stare up at the trees. And perhaps give an arrogant squirrel a run for his money.

I step inside without removing my boots, scoop the cat up in the arms and place him out on the deck chair. He looks at me as if Ive gone completely insane. Or more insane, as the case may be. Then he closes his eyes, lifts his furry chin, and breathes in that crisp, clean air. Then, abruptly jumps down and heads for the door. Yep. Less than a minute. But mission accomplished.

Maybe high up in the poplar tree, the squirrel is watching and wondering whether his old nemesis has returned. But the peanuts will bring him back.

Meanwhile, theres a proud, grey cat who knows theres still a world waiting for him outside that frosty glass. Even if its just for a while.

Original post:
COLUMN: Don't Mind the Mess - The champion of the deck - Winnipeg Free Press