Snow is not my thing. I grew up on the Canadian prairies, where temperatures regularly dipped below -30 degrees celcius and May blizzards were a common occurrence. Even though they kept me warm, heavy boots and snowpants were the bane of my existence. Since I moved to Vancouver, I’ve seen snow only rarely… and whereas I am willing to admit that a few fresh inches on the ground do look pretty, I still get a vague feeling of dread when I look at a window to see white flakes falling. It snowed, very briefly, here in Paris, and although it was nothing like the snow I grew up with, the novelty only lasted about five minutes – Beans the cat, Porkie’s little brother, agreed with me. He came outside just to hide under the bench next to his front door, safe from that wet white stuff.