Demon Clown Baby

Yesterday I recounted how my fiancé’s little grey kitty went missing. I prayed very fervently for him to be returned to us. I put up hundreds of flyers, and talked to many people. We put out food and a trap.

The following Tuesday, Buster came home.

I got a phone call around 6:30am. It was my fiancé, and she just blurted, “Buster came home!” Stunned, I asked her to repeat it. Sure enough, he’d showed up at the door that morning.

I immediately hopped in the car and drove over. We put him in a cat-carry case and took him to my house, where he would live until after the wedding. No more chances of him getting out. At my house we don’t let cats out, period. The way Buster had gotten out could never happen at my house.

He was so thin. We took him to the vet, and he had lost about a third of his body weight. And he was only a little 9 pound cat to start with. My other cats are in the 15 – 17 pound range.

I was so thankful. I continued to pray, in thanksgiving. I mean, I hate to be the type of guy that asks for stuff, and then forgets all the humility and piety once I get what I wanted.

After that, no matter what happened, whatever problems we had with the wedding prep, with work, with school, with remodeling, at least Buster was safe.

As time goes on, you can’t help but take things for granted though. How often are you thankful that you can have a hot shower, instead of bathing in a dirty river? We get used to things.

But, knowing this, I tried to remember to be thankful. Every few weeks I’d remember our blessings, and say “Buster is safe. Whatever other problems we’re dealing with, Buster is safe.”

That was in June, 2006. In February, 2007, just two weeks after my latest “I’m so happy Buster came home” thought, I discovered a lump on his left calf.