TCB: The Return of the Prodigal

I haven’t posted here over the last couple of weeks–life has been dominated instead by an attempt to go on holiday to the Orkney Islands, which was thwarted by the fact that Ptolemy–wounded, bandaged, confined-indoors Ptolemy–managed to escape from our house shortly after we got to Orkney, prompting us to turn round, head back South, and try to find him and persuade him to come home.

The good news is that he came home early on Monday morning, after a week spent living rough. He was quite a bit thinner and, relatedly, extremely hungry.

We worked out pretty quickly that he hadn’t really run away, but was still hanging around on what one might generously call his territory, and we were able to negotiate a series of dusk meetings on neutral ground–in the car-park by the flats on Victor Street–where we gave him food and, on one occasion, were permitted to stroke him. (He came home the following morning.)

Our neighbours were terrific, phoning in sightings and generally taking an interest and being supportive. And he seems to have removed his bandage mid-week, which was a sensible move, as getting it wet or dirty could have been very bad for his injury underneath.

The photo is of him resting at home on the day he returned. Since the picture was taken, he’s been bandaged up again by the vet, and reacclimatised himself to life indoors, for a bit. He’s still eating more than usual, and I think he’s regained the weight he lost (poor thing). (Having observed him closely these last few days, I am confident that he does not subscribe to the maxim widely attributed to Kate Moss, that “nothing tastes as good as skinny feels”.) Andromache is being tremendously solidaristic.

And it is just excellent to have him back at home, where (we think) he belongs