The bicycle’s buried up to the handlebars, the family car is just a roundish lump in the snow–and the cat decides to go out. Bad move, Fluffy.
Our cat Henry used to give me a harsh piece of his mind if it was snowing. The moment his feet touched that cold stuff, it was my fault.
Some cats are like that, but not all. There are 4 feral cats around here, and they plow through the snow like there is nothing to it. They come for lunch and dinner every day.
My cat is of the opinion that I can somehow magically wave a wand and voila, it’s sunny and 70 degrees outside. She too hates this weather.