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Mr. Keats (the wicked kitty) loves very much to go out onto our second-floor roof from our office on the third floor. But he just doesn't get the concept that the seasons change outdoors. Two days ago we got a light snow, but he sat by the door crying to be let out. Out he went, puzzled by this strange, cold, wet white stuff. Less than a minute later he wanted back in.

Today he sat crying by the door again.

"There's still snow out there, Keats," I told him.

Me-OW, Mee-ooow. (Translate: Let me OUT now!)

So I tossed him outside. His paws hit the snow and he immediately scurried back to the door, indignant.

"What had happened to the nice, warm place where I sun myself?" Walnut brain.