Well, Hell.
I just got back from the old guy's place across the river--I'm taking care of his place while he's with the daughter, son-in-law, and two grandsons out in California.
I had gone there to get his skittish collie dog and the two brown (golden?) labradors, as we're expecting flooding here beginning this evening, and after having done that last year, I don't care to drive through a flood again. (I live on high ground.)
Anyway, the minute I pull up here, out pops a cat, a grey-and-white cat with a hobbled leg, a very old, very ancient cat.....Gustav, who had been missing since December 3.
In case one isn't aware, December 3 was the start of a five-and-a-half week deep freeze, uninterrupted below-zero weather, and much snow. Cat-killing weather, and there were in fact many animals, domesticated and livestock, who died because of the extreme cold.
Given that Gustav is very old, and has that crippled leg (healed, but crippled), I had assumed his chances of survival were nil.
So I'm half lucky, and grateful to God for that.
I suppose it might be expecting too much for the younger, healthier George to return too; he had disappeared the same time as Gustav had.
What's odd is that Gustav is well-filled, as if he had dined very well during his absence. Lots of meat on his bones, and clean fur. He seems to be, uh, somewhat disoriented and confused, and so I'm going to watch that.
And having the three dogs here makes it more interesting.
However, it works out. God is good, as usual.
