Cat on the windowsill

Coiled on the windowsill
watching as the snow falls down
from a leak in the clouds

a tail like an old grandfather clock
swish, swish, swish
giving the occasional thump on the wall

someone splattered the unwanted colors
and she was caught in the mix –
she is only black, brown and white now

small breaths fog the glass
steam like the hot cocoa being
passed around the table

nose pressed against the cold window
almost as though she can touch the feathery frost
that lines the windowsill

satellites sit atop her fluffy head
twitching at the smallest sound
always listening

collar purple like the old wrapping paper in the basement
or the dried out flowers on the counter
or the little girl's coat, except it is not speckled in snowflakes

still, on the windowsill
stomach rising up and down
gentle, calm.