I adopted my Pyewacket in 1985 from the Northeast Animal Shelter in Salem, MA. He was 8 months old. He used to sit on my scanner while I worked at home. Unfortunately, he died in October of 1998 of cancer. I used to post stories about him on rec.pets.cats, but I found I was spending too much time on Usenet! This is one of those stories...

Is There a Doctor in the House?
by A.G. Lindsay

Wacket in all his glory

My Maine Coon cat (totally black, weighing in at about 16 lbs) spends much of his time sleeping on my bed. In fact, we sometimes jostle for position, but since I'm the one with the opposable thumbs, I suspect he often lets me win.

I was very sick a few weeks ago with The Flu From Hell and until then, I had never credited him with brilliance of mind, or suspected any kind of loyalty to me. I figured he stayed with me because I fed him, petted him, and wouldn't let him go outside...

It was about 12:30 when I made my first trip to the bathroom. When I came back, the Wacket was still on the bed. He sort of rolled over a little, jockeying for position, no doubt. "Well, don't make such a deal out of it. I get hairballs all the time."

1:30. Back from the second trip. One yellow eye opens up. "Couldn't get it out the first time? Don't you just hate that..."

2:30. Trip number three. I get upstairs to my bedroom, and Pyewacket's head is up. He's looking at me with moderate kitty concern. "My, my, that must have been a REALLY big hairball. I've had one or two of those in my time. My sympathies."

3:30. This is getting pretty old for the human. The cat, however, is clearly worried. I get out of the bathroom and there is the Wacket, sitting next to the place where I keep the PetroMalt. "Here, take this, Mom. You'll feel much better."

He stayed worried for the rest of the day. When I got up, he got up. When I was sleeping in the bed, he was sleeping either right next to me on the pillow (which he hadn't done much since we moved into the "new" place two years before) or at the foot of the bed. When I was lying on the couch downstairs, he was lying on top of me. (He meant well. He really did, but somehow I don't know if having a 16 lb Maine Coon cat lying on top of you is to be recommended when you've got the flu...)

I thought he was following me around because I hadn't gotten up to feed him at the usual time. However, when I did, he only ate a little and then he went immediately to where I was so he could finish the watch.

I'm all better now.

Wacket says, "I told you, you should have used the PetroMalt..."


To return to the fiction and poetry page, close this window.