My father lived in a nice town along the Hudson River in New York. One day his cat (whom he named the wildly uncreative "Galleria" after the mall at which he purchased her) didn't come home. After a few weeks with no sightings nor news of her recovery, he threw away all the kitty supplies -- litter box, cat food, toys, and so forth.
Almost exactly one year later he was having supper with his wife on their back porch. He noticed a ragged, nervous, and borderline feral cat watching them intently from the edge of the woods. After they were finished eating he left some scraps of meat on the porch, went inside, and watched to see what would happen next. Yep. You guessed it. Galleria had found her way back home, having somehow survived through the winter and avoiding coyotes.
These stories give me hope that one day Sonny will find his way back home.
1 comment:
Oh, Don! From your lips to God's ears. If Sonny comes home, I want to have a night with him again, damn the allergies!
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