“When he came to his senses, he said, ‘How many of my
father’s hired servants have food to spare, and here I am starving to death! I
will set out and go back to my father and say to him: Father, I have sinned against
heaven and against you. I am no longer worthy to be called your son; make me
like one of your hired servants.’ So he got up and went to his father. But
while he was still a long way off, his father saw him and was filled with
compassion for him; he ran to his son, threw his arms around him and kissed
him.”
—Luke 15:17-20
Farm cats are typically outdoor cats that keep
undesired rodents from entering the farmer’s house and eating stored grain
crops. My mouse-catchers, Sam and Sandy, are tough cats. They’ve weathered many
storms, sheltering in the crawl space beneath my house. I was sure they would
do the same in the recent blizzard, which blew in on a Friday afternoon.
I fed them well that morning and then settled in myself,
bracing for the storm, predicted to rage for a couple of days.
After the sky dropped more than a foot of snow, it gave
up its tantrum and smiled brightly on Sunday morning. I emerged from my shelter
to shovel and clear a space on the deck, where I placed bowls of cat food and
water. I called for the kitties, but
neither came forth. I called again. Still no response.
Shovel in hand, I trudged through knee-deep snow to the
entrance to the crawl space. As my boots crunched through the crusty surface, I
heard faint feline mews rising from beneath the hatch, now covered with a mound
of white stuff. Quickly, I went to work, digging deep, until I had opened up
the passage. I called to them, but they didn’t emerge. I called again. Still
nothing.
