Withstanding Winter's Woes

By Terri Elders

Don't worry about a thing, cause every little thing gonna be all right.
~Bob Marley

Though I've always seen myself as a "glass half full" person, this winter I've nearly changed my mind. I'm sad to say that I've temporarily set aside positive thinking, forgotten how to make an affirmation or a wish upon a star... and have even rubbed a cynical thumb across my unicorn key chain, which I usually stroke like a good luck charm.

Give me a crisis, and I can cope. But give me an avalanche of crises, and I get too smothered to function. For instance, this winter my son survived three rounds of layoffs at the metropolitan newspaper where he's a copy chief, but a fourth round is pending, and things look bleak. My husband, diagnosed with end-stage renal failure, held up well throughout the holidays, but his remaining energy seems to be dwindling more rapidly than either of us ever anticipated. And my own good health has suffered a series of small setbacks, colds and coughs that I can't shake, accompanied by vague aches and pains that interfere with solid sleep and managing housekeeping chores.

I just feel stuck. Spring can't come too soon, but even Punxsutawney Phil saw his shadow on Groundhog Day, guaranteeing six more weeks of gloom.

So when I look out my kitchen window this morning, and spy Chico, a black ball of fluff silhouetted against the gray sky and snow-covered pastures, I am astonished. Once again she is perched on top of the birdhouse, scanning the sky.

Now, let me set the scene a little more clearly. It's early February here in Northeast Washington... which my California friends allude to as Southern Alaska. We've crept above freezing exactly three days this winter. There's still a two-foot chunk of ice on my roof. And I can't recall seeing a bird other than a wild turkey anywhere near the yard since last November.

But if Chico expects a tasty snack to fly down to her, maybe one will. I've learned a lot about Chico and her expectations. She's the only cat I've ever known who dedicates herself to the principles of the Law of Attraction. This means that if you believe good things are going to happen to you, then they simply will. And for Chico, they often do.

Chico, and her siblings, Groucho and Harpo, were a freebie litter at The Flour Mill, an animal equipment and supply store in town. I had gone to the shop looking for a kitten, but couldn't settle on just one. I leaned towards Groucho, the tuxedo cat, and then towards Harpo, the marmalade. Chico, wholly black with emerald eyes, just sat and stared at me as if I'd be crazy to leave her behind.

Billed by the Mill as "barn cats," the trio belied that tag, taking to our house, particularly to the quilt on our bed, like babes to toyland. But from the onset, Chico demonstrated her difference from her siblings, her independence and daring. While the others hop into my lap, seeking affection, Chico prefers to curl up to Natty, our shaggy Great Pyrenees mix. The others rarely venture out in winter. Chico races the dogs to the door. Always up for adventure, hunting mice and birds is her obsession.

This afternoon I glance out the kitchen window again. Chico's back atop the birdhouse, but this time she's no longer alone in the yard. Dozens of English sparrows cavort in the adjacent tree, nibbling on the seeds. Chico watches them closely, swatting out a lazy paw whenever one flies near. She nearly loses her balance once or twice, but always digs her claws into the birdhouse roof just in time.

A little later she hops up on the windowsill outside our dining room window and yowls for my attention. Apparently today was not the best of hunting days because when I let her in she heads for the bathroom where she settles for a tamer meal of kitty kibble from her lavender dish.

I return to my computer and check my e-mail... at least there's no bad news from my son. I hear my husband upstairs and it sounds as if he's getting up to come down for an afternoon visit, still well enough to manage the stairs. The ache in my hip has subsided enough that I think I'm up to mopping the kitchen and hallway.


Chico ambles in and nudges Natty, licking her whiskers, satisfied and content.

Her message gets through to me. Maybe good things don't have to happen every day. Maybe it's enough just to be content simply because bad things didn't happen either.

And then I remember. Sometimes lowering your expectations is a part of the Law of Attraction. It doesn't always have to be great expectations. Like Chico, I simply could expect something that is readily available.

Hmmm. Birds in the trees once again. Spring can't be too far off. I manage a smile and go upstairs to greet my husband, trailed by Chico. Even though it's afternoon, I greet him, singing the verse from Bob Marley's "Three Little Birds" -- "Rise up this mornin', smiled with the risin' sun."

My husband sits on the edge of the bed, smiling back. Chico jumps up next to him, waiting for a pat. She gets it.

So do I.

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