Angus Returns and Prayers are Answered

I have always said a miracle is in the eyes of the beholder.  What seems like a miracle to me might not be a miracle to you.  

For reasons I discussed in this space long, long ago, finding out Jude was pregnant with Joe - and the way we found out - was a miracle to us.  I believe God's hands are in all miracles and without question, His hands were in Jude's pregnancy and Joe's subsequent birth.

Tuesday night, I saw another miracle, and God's hands were in that one, too.  

Angus came home.

As the temperature dropped outside and the rain turned to sleet, Joe ran upstairs to my office, shouting "Angus is back!  Angus is back!"  JP and I ran downstairs to the kitchen and, sure enough, there he was.  Angus.  There were tears in my eyes as I reached down, carefully, to pet him. 

His poor feet were scraped up pretty badly, as was one of his legs.  It was clear something had happened to him and, most likely he had been holed up somewhere nearby, licking his wounds, literally and figuratively.  My guess - and what the veterinary tech surmised later - is that he was hit by a car Sunday afternoon or evening and was hurt badly enough that he couldn't get home.  Alternatively, he might have been confused and unable to find his way home, at least at first.

Either way, I think that as the weather turned and it began to sleet, he knew he had to find the strength and will to get home if he was going to survive.  So, that's what he did.

This is where it gets a little - okay, a lot - personal for me.  Since Angus had been missing, I had not been myself.  My equilibrium was off, because not knowing if he was okay, or hurt, or dead, was weighing heavily on my heart.  Most importantly, I knew my boys were hurting, especially Joe.  Watching them get up off the couch every few minutes and look out the back door at the deck and the back yard - looking for some sign of Angus - was heartbreaking.  

Monday afternoon, I left work and drove out to the Davidson County Animal Shelter on Harding Road to see for myself the cats that had been turned in over the past few days.  I saw a couple that looked like Angus but weren't him.  Honestly, it was kind of depressing to see these poor animals there with little or no hope of being reunited with their owners or being adopted.

One of the workers at the Animal Shelter suggested I post a message in a Facebook group that's for people if Davidson or Williamson Counties who have lost pets.  I am not a Facebook guy.  Far from it, in fact.  Somehow - and I'm not sure how this happened - my original Facebook account was deleted, not by me, though.  I was told it was damn near impossible to delete your Facebook account.  Still, my account managed to delete itself.

I didn't miss it because the only time I got on Facebook was when someone I knew died.  Facebook just wasn't my thing.  Twitter, Instagram, yes.  Facebook, no.

Nonetheless, I posted a photo of Angus on Skippy Lou's Lost and Found Pets, a Facebook group for people of have lost (or found) pets in Williamson or Davidson Counties.  It's crazy but within minutes of posting the photo and leaving a message, several people replied.  Some posts provided helpful hints for how to find a missing cat and other just offered kind words and, yes, prayers.  A lot of prayers for Angus and our family.

I was touched by the generosity of spirit of so many complete strangers.  I also was struck by the fact that in this age of toxicity in social media, through dumb luck I had stumbled upon a group of kind and caring individuals, united by a love of animals.  There was no red or blue, no Republican or Democrat, just a group of strangers who genuinely cared about my family and really, really wanted Angus to come home to us.  

It sounds trite, I know, but the reaction of those people on Skippy Lou's Lost and Found Pets restored my faith in my fellow man, or woman, as the case would be.  

So, I find myself sitting in the lobby of the Graduate Hotel on Sunday morning, have a cup of coffee (Poindexter's), listening to a young man play guitar, waiting on JP to finish his Sunday school class across the street at The Cathedral of the Incarnation (where Jude and I were married 20 years ago this month).  I'll pick up JP in thirty minutes and we'll head to church at St. Patrick's.  And Angus is at home, resting comfortably as he has been all week.  

I earnestly prayed for a miracle, for Angus to return home, one way or another.  And he did, just as the temperatures dropped and the freezing rain started.  He was injured but he was home.  Did God hear my prayers, and Jude's prayers, and the boys' prayers?  Of course he did.  That's what I believe, anyway.

God is great, life is good, people are kind, and I'm content.  It doesn't get much better than that.