I’ve written about our cat Sylvester before (and by “our cat”, I really mean “Gary’s cat”), and you may have come away with the impression that Sylvester is crazy, mentally unstable, a nutcase, and best left heavily medicated in a strait jacket in a well-padded room.
Most of the time, that impression would be absolutely correct. But there are times the whacko fluff of fur surprises me and even touches my heart.
This has been a rough winter for me, one sinus infection, cough, or cold after another, and when I finally waved the white flag of defeat and collapsed in bed, I was surprised to find that my new nurse maid and caretaker came in the form of a humongous black and white fluff ball who never left my side.
Sylvester seems to have a sensor that lets him know when I am not feeling well. (I’m sure my generally crabby mood when I am sick doesn’t tip him off at all, nah!) The cat who usually shies away from being petted or offered any affection whatsoever from me will suddenly be glued to my side, following me from room to room, laying right next to me on the bed, watching over me as I sleep. He nuzzles me, purrs gently, comforts me with his presence. And stays with me all night.
I have noticed the same behavior when Gary’s youngest daughter, Dove, takes a nap on the bed. Sylvester sits near her or at her feet and watches the door like he is standing sentry, on duty, protective. The cat who Dove can’t get anywhere near while she is awake, won’t leave her side while she is asleep.
While Sylvester is racing around the house like his tail is on fire, or leaping from furniture to furniture, or trying to wrestle the other cats when they don’t want to, or chasing what appears to be thin air and generally behaving like a psycho, I admit feeling exasperated and wondering what I was thinking, bringing home a nearly-starved kitten that day years ago, and desperately hoping he outgrows the kitten stage sometime soon. Very soon.
But when I wake up from a Nyquil-induced coma in the middle of the night and feel him laying next to me, watching me, bursting into his signature Mack-truck purr once he notices I am awake, and feel that gentle little nuzzle of his gigantic fluffy head, I have to smile and realize there is more to our crazy cat than he usually lets us in on.
Now, if only he would stop wrestling the rugs and leaving them bunched up at the front door…