It was almost the end of the day and I was watching my cat sunbathing in the snow. Until she decided to get into the house, I stayed at the window side wondering when will I have the time to post this entry. It's been quite a while since January of this year that I have not fed my blog. 
Though a few entries have been drafted, none was carefully finalized to get published. Indeed, they were still not published: there is entry about the beauty and the naivety of the goats of Ninh Binh that I've commenced to write and the parallelism I wanted to draw when comparing them with Mr. Seguin's Goat, a story by Alphonse Daudet. The post needed in fact a candid photo of the goat which I tried to restore from a corrupted scan disk I brought back from my last trip to Vietnam. Then there is a great story of a spectacular escape to the west from a friend of mine, a Vietnamese contract worker in East Berlin, during the early days which preceded the fall of the Berlin Wall in November 1989. As Khoa has now moved to Calgary and could not be reached for his approval, the post could not be published right on time on the 20th anniversary of the collapse of the infamous wall ...
As I started to wrap up on a finite set of subjects to prioritize, the sky was gradually getting darker. I felt suddenly worried about the whereabouts of my cat which was only visible by fresh traces of her footprints. After many attempts to locate her in the snow, I had to come to terms with the hope that soon she will find her way back as usual before the last kitchen lights were switched off. No need of course to be stressed out on a single incidence of little importance specially on a Christmas eve. After all, it was just a matter of patience and confidence, since the cat finally showed up on the window edge, waiving his right pawn to signal her presence. It was exactly a few minutes before midnight as I opened the kitchen door to let her in. With the heart filled both with joy and tears I said to my cat: "Please Come Home for Christmas!".
As I started to wrap up on a finite set of subjects to prioritize, the sky was gradually getting darker. I felt suddenly worried about the whereabouts of my cat which was only visible by fresh traces of her footprints. After many attempts to locate her in the snow, I had to come to terms with the hope that soon she will find her way back as usual before the last kitchen lights were switched off. No need of course to be stressed out on a single incidence of little importance specially on a Christmas eve. After all, it was just a matter of patience and confidence, since the cat finally showed up on the window edge, waiving his right pawn to signal her presence. It was exactly a few minutes before midnight as I opened the kitchen door to let her in. With the heart filled both with joy and tears I said to my cat: "Please Come Home for Christmas!".
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