Capped

The snow is deep. I sink half way up my legs. I pad the trails broken by me and my litter-mate out and back to our shelter tucked under the fence at the top of the slope. Out in that direction across the hill, a cut-through and maybe some trash; through the fence there's the path to a porch on a house(underneath less snow and, maybe, warmth coming from the dryer through the window.) No food there; a person looks out sometimes through a window. Cleared paths to street of houses where I forage.

Down the hill, the fast food outlet and scraps, and special fool left on plates there. Down and back, out and back. The snow is so very white. I squint. Only the trees and bushes and my black litter-mate visible. The air is cold like a pair of hands pressing me from either side.

Rain, then cold. Snow in the beaten trails is hard, sharp on my pads. Unbroken snow crust holds me. I step gingerly. Seeds scattered in an open area; birds busy.I move toward them behind a mound of snow. Suddenly, the surface disappears from under me. I fall down a slope of white powder into a hollow place. A glass table above. A wall of white all around.

I climb but the snow is too soft to hold me, my paws sink deep into it. The lip of the table hits my head; I can't see out. The light under the table is white darkness. I meow. All I hear is myself. The snow absorbs my sound.

I throw myself at the snow, scrabbling wildly. It falls on me, suffocating. My black fur covered, My pink mouth filled. My whiskers crushed. I meow again. Into the snow again in a new direction, feet flailing.

Space under the table filling. The green-white glass is sky. Darker and darker now. I yowl. The snow eats my voice.