Your Saviour

Evening all.

Look, its a Christmas miracle.

Snatched from the jaws of death.

the cats, following King Herod's dictate of slaying all the infants offered up this little one.

It received a fearful beating in the jaws of doooooom, but the plucky blighter hung on until we could prise it free.

Although we offered little hope for its survival, it arose, Lazarus like from death, and, nurtured and sustained from the heat from our hands and the love in our hearts and a touch of Christmas magic, it stayed away from the light and instead sort the dark safe depths of the baggy shirt sleeve of salvation.

Causing much wailing and gnashing of teeth from the father- the Richardson, and the Holy crap.

night all


temple of the dog