Reinforcements Are On The Way!

Das Lauenburgische Jäger-Bataillon Nr. 9 bei Gravelotte by Ernst Zimmer (Source)

The sergeant is looking out over the ramparts and down the road leading to the nearby ridge. The garrison has been waiting nearly two months for the column to return. They had gone west in early September, it was now nearly November. The weather was worsening, supplies were low and morale was abysmal.

"Sergeant!" cried an alert sentry.

"What is it Jenkins? What do you see?" asked the sergeant.

"A single rider!"

He reached down for his telescope and bringing it to his eye looked towards the ridge. Sure enough, a single rider. Not hurrying but not dallying either. But definitely one of our boys, in fact the sergeant was fairly sure that it was Abercrombie, or Fitch, he never could tell them apart.

"You there," ordered the sergeant, "open the gate!"

Moments later the rider was through the gate, by Jove it is Fitch, thought the sergeant.

"Fitch! What news?"

"I'm Abercrombie, Sergeant, Fitch is a full inch shorter!"

"And how am I to tell when you're on horseback?" queried the increasingly agitated non-commissioned officer.

"We don't even look alike Sergeant!"

Climbing down from the ramparts the infuriated Sergeant bellowed, "Abercrombie, Fitch, whatever your bloody name is, WHAT NEWS?"

"The column Sir, they're returning! And they've brought reinforcements!"

"HUZZAH! HUZZAH!"

The cheers rang throughout the small fort on the small bay in the wilderness of New England.

"We're saved," thought the grizzled old sergeant, "we're saved!"

Source

Okay, that's perhaps a bit melodramatic. But I beg artistic license and all that.

Bottom line...

Had a dispatch from The WSO yesterday.

The Missus Herself returns today!

No more of just me and the felines conversing in grumbles, squeaks, meows and purring. I'll have my better half back at home, I'll get to reconnect with the love of my life.

What's more, I won't have to suffer through my abominable attempts to provide sustenance for myself. For The Missus Herself is an incredible cook. Me? I'm the guy who Gordon Ramsay would be continually yelling at. Until he threw me out of the kitchen grumbling about fire trucks and something about "bullocks," or something...

I have no idea where (or what) the chef is hollering about. Je suis paumé dans la cuisine.

But The Missus Herself will be home this very evening. How do I feel about this event?

Yeah, something like that...