Snow, snow and more snow. Thirty-five straight hours of the stuff. 

As much as I dislike it, I know the public loves photographs of royalty resting after toiling like day laborers. Boots drying quietly in the back, Crown Princess Nantucket ("Tuck") and I share a bit of radiator warmth. 

Our hours long combat with the beast Toro is finished. 

We are victorious. The path to PetCo has been restored.

And to the moron who chose to ignore two traffic cones in our dug-out parking spot I have but four words; your tires, my claws. My poor aching claws. You were spared,  no doubt, by some premature event that precipitated your leaving before it got dark enough. We spoke harshly to your girlfriend, she of the curtains of loose morals; you shan't be getting any more. Remain away. 

Tuck, like her sister, has the power to become shadow. 

She sees things mere mortals cannot.

C_W