COLUMN: Don’t Mind the Mess – The champion of the deck

It was minus 30, with a windchill that made it feel closer to minus 40 – frigid but not unusual for January in Canada.

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

My fingers were freezing, my head was sweating, and I really didn’t want to be out there.

But it was an act of love for the furry creature who watched me from the warm side of the living room window. That was Mozart, who drove me berserk for 15 years. The terror of the neighborhood who silenced the birds as he sauntered by, made squirrels flee to the treetops, and sharpened his claws on every new piece of furniture I owned.

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

That cat, who watched his entire feline family cross the rainbow bridge before him, and in his later years was not as keen about wandering in the cold as he had been in winters past. He relied 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 that year. The snow filled it up like an ice cream bowl, and the freezing rain gave it a shiny glaze. It would have been pretty, if it hadn’t been as heavy as concrete, building an ache in my back with each shovelful.

From his perch behind the glass, Mozart flicked his tail in fascination. Maybe he was thinking, “Crazy Master. Doesn’t she know I detest that white stuff, and I’ll only poke my head out there for a minute before I’m ready to go back in?”

What he didn’t know was that it was that minute of joy that I was labouring for. That little window of time when the bounce returned to his aging legs, and he lifted that pink, heart-shaped nose in the air and took a deep, delightful whiff of fresh air.

Blame all of this on the neighborhood squirrel, who had paid us a visit a few hours earlier. 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, then smugly bounced off, leaving his former stalker defeated and sad.

Don’t get me wrong. I love squirrels. The bowl of peanuts that I left out for that cheeky furball could attest to that. But his brash behavior made me hurt for Mozart, whose ego deflated right before my eyes. He may not have been the terror of the neighborhood anymore, but at the very least, he could still be the champion of the deck.

And so, I shoveled, clearing 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.

Mozart is gone now, but in my mind’s eye, I still see him there – flicking his tail, nose lifted, the deck of his small kingdom. And I smile, knowing he ruled it well.