Ship's cat

In the old sailing ship days, most ships had at least one ship's cat. The cat was there to hunt down the rats that infested the holds and small spaces in most of the lumbering old wooden traders. Each time the ship docked, more rats would come aboard, so the ship's cat had it's work cut out for it, a never-ending job.

I have a ship's cat, Snowflake.

Snowflake is ancient by cat standards, going on 18 human years. He is retired, like your Cap'n, and spends his days at leisure. When I got sick back on May 2, the cat would jump up on my bed, give my face a lick, and curl up next to my head and just purr, for hours. It was very comforting. This went on through the week as my fever rose and my condition worsened. Snowflake stuck by me, until the last day, Thursday. I woke up at 0330 with a raging fever of 104.7. Hearing me wake up, Snowflake came into the room as I staggered off to whiz. When I came back, I got into bed and signalled the cat to come over and comfort me as usual.

He refused, and slunk off out of my room. I started to think, then it hit me. The damn cat knew I was killing myself by delaying going to the ER, and he wasn't going to have any part of me croaking on HIS watch.

I reached for the phone and called up a buddy to haul my dying ass into the hospital, where I should have been for the previous two or three days.

The hospital knew what to do, and so here I am to write about it. The cat knew I was too sick to recover on my own, but I was the last one to get the clue.

Thanks, Snowflake. I owe you one. I'll probably outlive you now, but I WILL see you on the Other Side, my friend.

Comments

[Mollbot]

Good kitty.