I've just returned from a long sick. It was nothing serious, but for most of the first long weekend I was stuck in bed, unable to sleep, while the rest of the time I was stuck in bed, unable to stay awake. During that whole time, there wasn't a moment at least one animal wasn't with me.
Concerned and selfless creatures that they are, during the days when my fever was raging, the cats stayed especially close, often sprawled on top of me in an almost luxuriating way. I suspect they were feigning that look of extreme comfort to deter me from attempting to stand and move about, knowing I wouldn't want to displace them. Cats must instinctively know bed rest is essential for human recuperation.
The dogs were equally helpful, serving as foot-, arm- and headrests, and occasionally testing whether my congestion had lifted based on my reaction to their noxious gases.
The dogs also served as a measure for knowing when I absolutely had to force myself from the bed. This service they provided by sniffing me rather thoroughly, registering an expression of glee, then flinging themselves onto my body, upon which they would roll. Knowing this behavior is generally reserved for when they've found something decomposing, I recognized it was time for a bath.
And a trip to the doctor.
While in the waiting room, I noticed a familiar-looking man, wearing scrubs, seated in the corner. He avoided meeting my gaze.
I wanted to ask, but refrained.
Was he there to be treated for canarial disease?
Or a reptile dysfunction?
Reach Karin Fuller at karinful...@gmail.com.