therapy cats

To view the story, go to the following url: http://www.walkermn.com/placed/index.php?story_id=216374 Cats as caregivers Flotsam and Jetsam Gail DeBoer, Staff writer The Pilot-Independent Last Updated: Tuesday, March 14th, 2006 11:28:52 AM After spending a long weekend on the couch and/or in bed fighting a wicked cold, I am happy to report that I am on the road to recovery. I never thought simply being able to breathe through both nostrils could make me this happy! My return to relative health and strength was partly due to my co-workers' insistence that I use some sick leave ("Go home! Go home!") and partly due to drugs; the over-the-counter kind. However, it was in no way due to the ministrations of my housemates, three cats. Yes, the feline population at my place has temporarily increased. Since late February, I've been cat-sitting my daughter and son-in-law's two animals, while they went on vacation. Although they returned some time ago, we haven't been able to find a mutually acceptable date to do a cat exchange. So Bolshoi and Mishka are extending their visit and, by their mere presence, are continuing to annoy the spit out of Annie-Kitty, my resident cat. None of the three was much help or comfort during my recent illness. Granted, it would have been a stretch to expect actual assistance, considering the lack of opposable thumbs to open cough syrup bottles or pop decongestant tablets out of shrink-wrapped packages. But a sympathetic attitude would have meant so much. I'm sure a dog would at least have cared if its master was sick. I bet a dog would have fetched a new box of Kleenex or been there to steady its master as he or she staggered toward the bathroom — instead of shredding said Kleenex into confetti or trying to trip the master to call attention to an empty food dish. The only real benefits the cats provided were as live heating pads, and maybe a little purr-therapy. Whenever and wherever I laid down, two out of three would arrive within minutes to settle in alongside, above, on top of me, or at my feet. That caused a few panicky moments one night when I awoke with a constricted feeling across my chest. I could hardly move and had trouble breathing. Had the cold mutated into pneumonia or a strange paralysis? It was neither. Turns out, I was being pinned down by the blanket. Bolshoi, a robust 18 pounds, was anchoring it on one side, and 10-pound Mishka was on the other. After flipping both of them onto the floor, I was freed from the ties that bound me and was able to breathe and move. The only act that could possibly be construed as sympathetic was when I woke from one of many naps to find Mishka gently licking my forehead. I'd like to think it was an act of kindness, but more likely she was harvesting salt off my sweaty brow. The whole experience called to mind a passage that I read in one of author Agatha Christie's mystery novels. Christie describes a woman sitting in a chair with a cat on her lap. After a time, she writes, the cat jumped down, because the lap had cooled. When I first read that, I remember thinking, "What does that mean, 'the lap had cooled'? Oh, of course; the woman has died!" Just like dogs, cats probably do love their people (don't call them masters) in their own special ways and for their own special reasons. But those reasons are as likely to include our 98.6-degree body heat any anything else. Gail DeBoer is a realistic cat-owner and staff writer for The Pilot-Independent. http://www.catliness.com