Happy 2026 Side Questers! Despite everything, I’m determined to find the joy in this year. Even if I have to dig it up with bloodied fingernails.

It has, admittedly, started out rough.

My family had to say goodbye to our beloved Blizzard the cat. After untold years, his body was failing, his vision poor, and I couldn’t bear to watch him suffer anymore. I was so afraid I would regret it after our trip to the vet, but instead it felt right. I held him on my shoulder, rubbing his head on the spot he liked best, as his purr faded away and he passed. Unexpectedly, I can still feel him there, which has been deeply comforting.

He was a good cat, and well worthy of having a newsletter dedicated to his furry self. So, while the memories are still sharp, let me tell you about my Blizz.

It was twelve years ago, our first winter in the Enchanted Forest. Every so often, I’d look out the window to see a cat sunning himself on the south-facing steps leading into one of the side buildings. Every time I opened the door or tried to approach him, he ran and hid under the building. I didn’t push.

This carried on for the warmer, earlier months of winter, until a nor’easter blew in, our first on the mountain and let me tell you, it was a proper blizzard. At one point I had the door of the front porch open, trying to shovel the drifting snow off in the howling wind, when I looked across and saw the cat peeking out from the side building. I swung the door open behind me. “You should probably come inside,” I told him.

His little head perked up like he understood and he didn’t hesitate, crossing the distance in just a few kitty leaps and shaking himself off in the mudroom. I was secretly amazed, but didn’t want to make a big deal about it and scare him off. When I opened the door to the house proper, he walked right in. Sniffed noses with our dog Kira, who he surely knew from the yard, accepted the hisses he received from our indoor cat Crookie graciously, then wandered over to the woodstove to warm up.

So now you know how he got his name.

Blizzard never accepted the indoor life. He was a forest cat and, among other things, flat out refused to do his business inside a house. That was disgusting, kitty litter was an abomination, and he wanted nothing to do with it.

The thing with Blizzard is that he very much considered the entire forest HIS. Kira and I would go for a hike to the far end, bordered by a line of hydropoles, and he would show up out of nowhere with a happy little chirp, “fancy meeting you here.” Along the way home, he’d bound up and down trees, criss-cross fallen trees like they were secret passages he’d known his whole life, quite in his element and happy for the company.

Once he came across me, alone, in an altogether different spot after I got tired of following the trail and wanted to explore. For whatever reason, he wasn’t having it. After a sound scolding, he insisted I leave at once, which he accomplished by bounding away, stopping, and crying piteously until I reached him, at which he’d do it again. I don’t know what danger was there that day, but it was certainly important to him.

Kira, our black lab, became one of his best friends. He’d catch a mouse and promptly turn it over to Kira, which, to our horror, she would toss in the air and swallow in one gulp. Blizzard also gave Kira’s ears a good internal grooming at least once a day, and the three of them (Blizzard, Kira, and Crookie) would usually take over the couch for naps mid-afternoon.

Crookie and Blizzard took longer to bond, but after a year or two, they could be found curled up together on sunny floors and abandoned beds. Or getting their midnight zoomies out while Kira huffed in frustration.

Blizzard was the last one remaining of their trio and it does feel like a generation of pets has passed. The magical, mythical pets of the kids’ early childhoods. Strange how those generations form in your mind as your own years start to pile up.

When we first took him for vaccines and to be neutered, the vet estimated Blizzard was 5-7 years old, and we had 12 good years with him. That’s a fine, long life for a cat who grew into adulthood as a stray. Despite a few frostbite scars, the forest had been good to him.

Goodbye, Blizzard. You will be missed and you will be remembered, which is a good ending for any story made of fur.

Until next month, thank you for reading and for letting a little bit of my heart into yours.