He wasn’t the first thing on my mind when I arrived. The problems with the snow put all thoughts feline way down the To Do list.
But in the morning I was rather keen to see if he was about. No paw prints in the snow mind you. Where was he?
I will admit I did amble up to Jean Daniel’s to see if he was sleeping in front of the fire there. Not a soul was home.
But I did spot the food bowl so at least I knew he was extant. He is terribly elderly and five weeks is a long time in winter to be away.
I brought the subj of cat up in conversation with Pierrot our electician who was buried underneath our hot water cistern at the time trying to work out why I came home to no hot water. And no central heating.
He confirmed that Artur was alive and well and even purring just the night before when everyone came up the road for an evening of choucroute and way too much wine at the only other farm on the mountain.
(I did wonder why there were a suspiciously large number of bootprints in the snow around the house. Everyone parked at ours and walked up the road beyond our farm to our neighbour’s as the road is a tad trecherous in snow.)
So I just had to be patient. And stop bleating. I did call for him everywhere, looking in his old haunts.
And behold, just after waving goodbye to the electrician who fixed all broken electrical bits and returned me to civilization in the form of hot showers and a less than freezing house, I twinkled up to the potting shed and there he was. Perched on the water barrel outside in the sun.
He is terribly thin and creaky. Fur a bit wonky and unkempt. But purring and content.
And so am I.
But here is the question. Sarah brought up the fact that I mainly wrote and posted pictures of the cat to entertain my father who was fonder of felines than flora.
You can see from these shots that he is mainly sleeping.
I welcome a brief comment from you on this rather vexing question. It looks like he is going to be a feature in the potting shed as it is so warm and toasty for his old bones. But I doubt he will be racing about the garden as he used to. No more following me about like a puppy getting up to no good.
And I even miss the fact he didn’t shred me with his claws as punishment for being away. It was rather a wan greeting rather than the death stare and hiss.
Or maybe he just has to get used to me again. And learn to share the potting shed once more.