Bucky noticed that there was no rain this morning. So he dashed outside
when I fed the ferals.

I got home, and he was still out.

Then I heard several loud crashes of thunder. The rain was starting up
again. I went out to look for him.

We have several shrubs around the building. Holly bushes. With sharp and
pointy leaves. And the green ones make good rain cover.

So Bucky is making his way towards our door, under the bushes, crying
every few seconds. Especially when a new round of thunder booms. He sounds
very scared.

There I am, standing barefoot in the mud, in the rain, and trying to reach
into a healthy holly bush to comfort (and hopefully GRAB!) a distressed
Bucky.

Finally, I reach back and around and touch him. He flops down in the mud.
But I grab him, hold him close and shield him from the rain with my
shoulders. He is now screaming, and snuggling in, all at the same time.

Inside, he (and I) gets a good towelling, pets and skritches and kisses
and hugs. Which he *tolerates*.

He's eating now, while the other cats wait to hear his Hobbit's tale of
woe and adventure.

And he's purring. Poor baby.

Hugs and Purrs,
Mark