My Austrian Dad loved Easter. I'm not quite sure why he affectioned it so. It certainly had nothing to do with the apparently religious aspects of the season. Or the 'holiday' which it has, for some reason, in these days, become.
Easter means just one thing to me. Fourteen years ago, when I had not been for long the Graf von Gerolstein, a stray mother cat laid a brood in a hollow tree on our river bank. One by one, Wendy and I caught the wee ones and took them to the vet's speying-and-homing unit at Rangiora. Finally, we caught poor, raped mother, too, and 'saved' her from a life of sin. But one, few-weeks old, kitten evaded us. Oh, well. We'd tried.
Easter Sunday 2003. I suppose we had left the back door open. Anyway, this walked right in to our living room and simply sat down.
'Haha' she said 'it's Easter, and the vet is closed'. And, of course, by the time Easter was over ... she wasn't going anywhere.
Now it's Easter 2017. Minnie has epilepsy and an arthritic leg, she's given us a few worries and cost us more than I can count ... but she is an adored part of our family ...