I cheated the snow and escaped, driving back to New Orleans after a three-week absence.

The cold blast that brought the temperature down to five degrees last week in Batesville pushed down here as well, bringing a frost to the south shore of Lake Pontchartrain. Noticeable casualties in the yard were impatiens and angel’s trumpets. The lantanas and begonias were singed. They will come back after trimming. Petunias, geraniums and snap dragons appear to have been unaffected by several hours at 27 degrees.

There were no damncat casualties. Cookout Kitty, now grown cranky in what must be at least his 16th year and 99th life, sits around making demands on my wife. Not, “Meoww!” but “ANXOWY#@%!” Something like that. Reminds us of an old comic strip character called Bill the Cat.

My wife tries to cater to his every “ANXOWY#@%!, “ which is disgusting. I’m old and cranky myself and don’t get near the attention she gives that damncat. When I call this to her attention she tells me that Cookout Kitty is here all the time while I’m just an occasional visitor. We’ve had this conversation before.

With the Saints having been eliminated, the city has turned its full attention to Mardi Gras. It’s late this year —March 8. That makes a long Carnival season, having started on the twelfth night after Christmas. The later date increases the probability of warmer weather during the last three weeks of parades.

J. Monque’D, our harmonica-blowing, blues-singing neighbor, has taken his music to Italy. He’s scheduled to return this week after a month’s tour. Nobody enjoys Mardi Gras more.

The pace of activity at Wisner Playground — the park across the street — has continued to accelerate since the FEMA restoration was completed. The new fence that was erected around the ballfield made it a fine enclosure for loosing dogs. Trips to the park by dogs and their owners are social events.

It’s a dog cult, my wife observed. Every breed is represented there along with many mutts, but not just any dogs. She suspects a gentrification in the dog crowd when she hears owners calling names like Merlin, Everett, Chad, William. And you know the old saying, “So go the dogs, so goes the neighborhood.” Actually, I made that up.

And the Pussy Footers took over the basketball court Sunday for the first of their weekly practices prior to strutting their stuff in the Mardi Gras parades. How sweet it is on Laurel Street where the neighbors now far outnumber the hoods and the gentry come bringing their dogs.