It doesn’t get much worse than a world of ”always winter, never Christmas.”

On the other hand, it doesn’t get much better than a world of all Winter, all the time.

Suite C has become the 24-7 Winter Show, and no one’s complaining about the cold. This big, quirky snowflake is one of the warmest dudes in town, frosty name to the contrary.

Is he part Persian? Is he part Abominable Snowman? Why does he always look so angry, yet act so sweet? Shouldn’t the Village People have won some sort of award for using “macho” as a noun and “boss” as an adjective within a single song?

But I digress. Some questions just don’t have answers.

Here’s another one: what is going on with Winter’s ears? Our white wonder has had ear issues since the beginning of his Tabby’s time. This has made for lots of ear-cleaning and poking and prodding, none of which feels quite like Christmas to Winter. But, in classic Winter style, he doesn’t let a little frost get him down: after one of our brave staff members cleans Winter’s ears, the big guy will skitter away…only to run back after 1.3 seconds, mugging for love again. Forgive the ear-cleaners and forget their indignities – this motto serves Big W well.

Winter’s done a fine job of fitting into his new world. He joins Suite C, which was already as wacky as Christmas in July. From Hootz (five pounds of incontinent dynamite) to Katrina (an attitude the size of Mongolia, wrapped in shimmery spots), this suite is host to ladies who rule. So, it’s a good thing that Winter is a forgiving sort, able to shrug off the occasional smack on the big fluffy head, or hiss in the face.

It’s also quite convenient that Winter happens to resemble a Swiffer. Our staff and volunteers work hard mightily like sweaty slaves to keep the suite clean, but with no fewer than three cats who think litter boxes are overrated, this is definitely our most barnyard-like zone (thank you Hootz, Mango and Precious). Winter does his part to keep things pristine sub-revolting just by sweeping the suite with his endless fluff.

And make no mistake: Winter’s floofitude is dang near endless. He is the feline equivalent of a clown car. Brush him until you have a heap of fluff the size of a Volkswagen, but don’t expect to de-fluff Winter by even an inch. Unlike the recently “made-over” Harley, I don’t even think Winter could get a shaved-down lion cut. If you attempted to shave him, you’d find fluff all the way down. Kind of like a Care Bear.

Speaking of which, our fluffy guy definitely does a fine imitation of the Care Bear stare. Winter’s frigid gaze might give a casual observer the wrong impression. Is he angry? Is his mind full of dark thoughts? Is he plotting to overthrow Tabby’s Place in a Twitter-driven revolution?

Nah. He’s just got a serious case of Serious Face.

We’ve seen this before. Exhibit A: Mozart.

Mozart looked a whole lotta angry all the time. But to meet Mozart was to learn that he wasn’t angry. Actually, there wasn’t really enough going on between his ears to even generate anger. (Mozart’s heart: the size of Jupiter. Mozart’s brain: the size of a kumquat.) That’s the kind of confusion Serious Face can produce.

Until they come up with some pharmaceutical to treat it (“If you or a loved one suffers from Serious Face, there is hope…”), we’ll just remember that Winter’s grimace hides a heart of gold.

And fluff.

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