I think this post is about writing. Maybe not. You be the judge….
I find that, unbidden, animals creep into my work. Recently they have become psychic because it works for the story but also because psychic animals are fun. Wolf Legend has a psychic wolf. Wanted Sharpshooter has a rogue psycho cougar. But I never thought of psychic animals as being anything other than clever additions to fictional stories.
Until now. What follows was my life last week:
First I should mention that we have a cat named Smoke. He’s our first cat ever and we have him because our daughter got him as a kitten to become another barn cat to keep their barn free of mice. Smoke, however, didn’t want to be a barn cat. He kept coming to the house and meowing very politely to let her know that he’s a house cat, not a barn cat.
Since our daughter already had three house cats and didn’t need any more, she decided her parents needed a cat. So we got Smoke. As soon as he came to our house he knew this was where he wanted to be. He walked around and inspected his new kingdom and informed us that it was acceptable and climbed onto my lap and started purring and has pretty much been there ever since. Even though we aren’t cat people. Or, to be honest, we weren’t cat people until Smoke came into our lives.
Anyway, to get back to what happened in the last few days:
My DH Dick started feeling sick Thursday night. So did Smoke. Didn’t come to get us for bed as usual and was quiet.
Dick got worse Thursday night. So did Smoke. Stayed in one spot on the bed all night. Didn’t move. Didn’t do anything.
Dick was really sick Friday morning. So was Smoke. Managed to crawl onto a shirt that Dick had dropped onto the floor and he stayed on that shirt. Didn’t move, didn’t do anything. Was really sick and puking and refused to get off that shirt even though Smoke generally prefers me to Dick. But that day when I offered him one of my shirts, he refused it and went back to Dick’s shirt, where he stayed. So I left him there while I took Dick to the ER.
It was acute appendicitis. Dick had surgery and, as happens after surgery, he felt generally awful for the rest of Friday and all day Saturday. He came home Saturday evening. Smoke also felt awful during that time, couldn’t even climb onto the bed and, when I lifted him there and touched his stomach, he cried out in pain. So I put him back on Dick’s shirt on the floor, which was where he wanted to be. He lay there without moving.
Sunday both Dick and Smoke felt awful. Both lay around and did nothing, Dick in bed, Smoke on the shirt that he refused to give up.
Monday, Dick felt awful until afternoon, when he began feeling better. Same with Smoke. Didn’t move, stayed on Dick’s shirt and felt awful Monday morning, but Monday afternoon he, too, started feeling better.
Tuesday morning, Smoke felt better still. He came into the kitchen and let me know that he wanted his morning treat and, when I only gave him half a treat because he’d been sick, he meowed until he got the whole treat. Same with Dick. He wanted a full breakfast and is now feeling pretty good.
Oh yes, when I went into the bedroom later that day to put that shirt in the hamper, Smoke watched me pick it up, accompanied me to the laundry, and watched me drop it in the hamper without interest. Because whatever had happened during those last few days was over. Both cat and man were okay.
Coincidence? Probably. But maybe not.
Anyway, in the future if I can’t get those psychic or empathetic animals out of my work, instead of mentally excusing their existence because it’s only fiction, I’ll accept the reality that art imitates life more than I’d ever realized until we got a cat named Smoke.