No Cat in his or her right mind will greet a stiff breeze with anything other than disdain, and this is especially the case if the breeze contains a suggestion of chill. They'll peer from a warm doorway, rightly cast blame at the two legged for upsetting the elements, then they'll return with what remains of their dignity to one or other of many day beds where they'll sleep in glades of blanket until supper time. But the Girl Cat doesn't do this. She's either fascinated by the change of season or she might not actually be a properly adjusted Felis Catus Domestica and could indeed still have an inner Felis Sylvestris coursing through her veins, a demon just waiting to break every last rule in the Domestica book.
But I guess in our own species there are also both anomalous and eccentric
behaviors. Take for example, an English Boarding School Rugby Master, or Coach
in charge of character building. They are, or were, very fond of making people
get half naked, yelling something about the Fields of Waterloo, then dragging
everyone into the frigid outdoors and forcing them to run around in mud chasing
oval shaped leather balls. It wouldn't have been so bad had the authority in
question not seemed to be thoroughly enjoying the experience of risking
hypothermia. In the end a person just has to accept the fact that creatures will
follow their muse and if they do get stuck up a tree, or in the belly of a wolf,
or mistaken for a Rabbit by Barred Owl, or roll around in Barn Dust then Kismet
can be the only solace.