The sick cat.

So there I was, lying horizontal on our sofa and feeling ill. There’s a flu bug going around the office and I must have caught it from a colleague. My head was also pounding so I decided that I really should just go lie in bed and sleep.

I looked at the boy and said: “Can you carry me to bed?” *eyes wide*

And he did.

He picked me up easily and walked carefully towards the bedroom. If I may add, I am paranoid that he’d hit my head on the bedroom wall but I reached our bed unscathed and in one piece. Phew.

After he placed me safely in bed, he proceeded to draw the curtain (making sure that no light could peek in because there’s nothing more that I hate than a sliver of light peeking in!) and turn on the aircon (and checking that the temperature was ok for me and not too cold because at this point, I was getting feverish).

“Do you want a panadol?” he asked gently.


A couple of seconds later, a Panadol Extra was placed in my hand along with a glass of water.

“Finish all the water and then go sleep”, he cajoled.

“Okay…..Oh, but I haven’t moisturised my face yet.”

“Which is the bottle? I’d get it for you”.

I then proceeded to half-sit in bed and applied my face moisturiser and my other bits of before-bed routine. He even placed the bottle back into the shelves “because they are made of glass and you may knock them over tomorrow”.

After I was suitably moisturised and tucked into bed (with comforter pulled right up to my chin along with my baby pillow safely in my right arm), he came round, kissed me good night and said “Rest well ok?”

The lights were then shut and the door closed quietly behind him.


And the sick cat went to sleep with a warm fuzz in her heart, feeling thoroughly loved by the man she married last May.



2 thoughts on “The sick cat.

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