Giacometti was nowhere to be found upon my return from a wonderful vacation abroad, you could call that an anti-climax. Old Pernille, the next door neighbor, was supposed to take care of him and she hadn't seen him either all the while. No wonder I felt increasingly ill at ease, as the hours passed by and turned into full time day without any sign of life or death from dear, lovely and holy Giacometti.
The first clue as to his whereabouts came from our social worker, old Anne Grethe, she could report seeing a pretty cat around ward nr. 22. He'd been friendly and exceptionally good looking, she thought. I told her it must be him, and wadaya know guys, so it was. I found him in the area the following day, he blinkered myopically in my direction, as if in utter disbelief, then his tail went erect like a tall ship entering a harbour, running the last three four meters straight into my embrace. A highly charged moment, so it was!
The wee bugger had plenty turkey meat to eat last night.
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