separation

Noone had been able to find Smokey Joe.

We had searched high and low in the bushes and the firefighters were about as sure as they could be that he hadn't been stuck down in the foundations of the wall with the others. Our last (and best) chance of finding him was Agatha, and find him, thank goodness, she did.

We still have no clue where he'd been hiding, but all she'd needed was 5 or 10 minutes in the quiet, post-upheaval garden, and a bouncing smudge ball was once again at her feet, and soon bringing what I'm sure was welcome relief to her heavy teats. Relief all round.

Short-lived relief.

It quickly became clear that she was now bound to stay with him, distracted from searching for the others.

My instinct upon realising this was to try and nab him and place them all together, but the bush was thick, and both mother and child ferocious.  It was also dark, and they needed a little respite from all the drama.  So against my better judgement, I left them be, hoping that soon enough she'd go for the others, find them in that snug, dry room, and take Smokey Joe to join them.

Hours passed, however, and she did not leave his side.

Fred and Ginger seemed okay.  Ginger was a little shaky, but both of them had sound instincts to hide together in dark corners and also less constructive ones to snarl at approaching hands.  I held them each to try and calm them, get them used to being stroked, try to sex them (I think we were right all along) and then to try to feed them wet kitten food on the end of my finger, but they weren't at all into it, hungry though they must have been. We mostly left them to themselves, and when bedtime came, left a hot water bottle and food and milk out for them, in case they decided they were ready to start on solids.  They seemed strong enough to last out the night.

So we slept.

And when we woke, it was a different world.  It was rainy day Thursday.