Kitty, my 19-year-old 'baby' had her worst nightmare realized last Friday when the furnace went out on the coldest day of the year.

It's usually a balmy 72 degrees (or more) in my house, but when I woke up to Kitty's meows early that morning, I felt the coldness right away.

Or better yet, the cold shoulder Kitty was giving me.

How dare I let it get that cold in the house.

She sat next to the heater vent and waited for the hot air to come out, but to no avail.

I tried to put a blanket on her, but she walked away almost as if I had insulted her.

I had to act fast. I called the furnace repair man, who could be at the house within an hour or two.

I then plugged in the space heater and aimed it at Kitty.

She was not amused, but seemed to warm up (but not to me) a bit.

In the end, $66 later, the furnace guy, who I think Kitty likes more than me, relighted the pilot light, and the world was good again.

I sometimes think of Kitty when I leave The News-Herald in the wee hours of the morning and walk to my car in the frozen tundra that is paper's parking lot.

As I shovel off the snow and de-ice my car, I picture Kitty with her butt up against the heater.

Life is good.

If the Lord does send us back to this earth once we pass, I hope I come back as a house cat ... in my house.

I just hope the furnace is working.

--Robin Palmer