Finding oneself knee-deep in snow, slightly drunk, shouting “Tobias” at the fir trees, is uncommon; but there she was.
Earlier that day she had been stupid enough to let her cat out while the neighbour’s dog rummaged through her garden. Before she noticed the cat was gone, she had opened the regular Friday evening wine bottle. Getting comfortable. But there she was.
No cat, snow in her shoes, snow down her neck, her keys lost. Walking back in the snow, she realised: There she was. Locked out. And in time to see Tobias, the missing cat, in the window. Getting comfortable.