Cats are designated friends.
~Norman Corwin
Cats aren’t exactly known for being “man’s best friend.” Our son and our cat, despite having both been adopted as babies, typified that relationship. It wasn’t for lack of trying on Alec’s part, but Princess never wanted much to do with him. It’s hard to blame her. Princess was already six years old when Alec joined our family, and a haughty teenaged cat and a loud human baby were probably not destined to hit it off. But it didn’t stop Alec from trying.
As a toddler, Alec trailed after Princess, trying to show his affection with hugs. Once, he followed her behind an armchair. We couldn’t see what happened, but there was a yelp of feline indignation and a squeal of pain from Alec. He emerged with a scratch to remind him, we assume, that it isn’t polite to touch a cat without her permission.
As they grew older, Alec kept trying to get close to Princess. Despite sometimes deigning to play with the laser lights or string he tempted her with, she resolutely refrained from climbing into his lap when the family watched television. As an only child, Alec often wished he had someone to share a room with. But no matter how much Alec wished Princess would sleep in his bed, she continued to curl up next to my pillow every night instead.
Nothing Alec could do seemed to change her first opinion of him — until years later when he was on the cusp of becoming a teenager himself.
Alec had been diagnosed with epilepsy at age four. He had absence seizures — two-to three-second staring spells that most people never noticed. Medicine kept them well under control, but when he turned twelve, his seizure activity increased. This time, increasing the dosage of medicine didn’t control the seizures, and he was admitted to the hospital for a week for testing.
My husband and I took turns staying at the hospital with him while the other went to work. I took the first shift, and when it was my turn to come home a few days later, Princess meowed happily when I walked in the door. I petted her and gave her some attention, but she kept up with her yowling. I checked her food — the other reason she sometimes vocalized — but it was full. So I headed toward the back of the house to the bedroom to unpack my overnight bag. Princess followed, caterwauling all the way.
When we reached the hallway between the bedrooms, she stopped in front of Alec’s door. I could count on one hand the number of times Princess had been in his room in the four years we’d lived in the house, but she refused to move on. She turned in circles, eyes trained on me, meowing all the time. It may be fanciful, but I swear she was asking where Alec was.
When we all came home several days later, Princess wound herself around all of our ankles and mewed and purred until everyone in the family had petted and talked to her. That night, when we sat down to watch television, Princess jumped onto Alec’s lap for the first time. He was cautiously optimistic. “Maybe she’s starting to like me, Mom.”
But after a dozen years of Princess mostly ignoring Alec, I wasn’t getting my hopes up.
While he was in the hospital, Alec began having different types of seizures than the small ones he’d had most of his life. Two months after his hospital stay, he had a tonic-clonic seizure, formerly known as a grand mal seizure, as we were getting ready to leave for school. Then he had another a week later at wrestling practice. Seizures can be scary to witness and even scarier to experience.
Alec was understandably nervous about having another seizure. Like most worries, it seemed to grow bigger at night, and it often took Alec a half-hour or more of tossing and turning before he could fall asleep. The worst part is that sleep-deprivation can trigger seizures. Staying awake worrying about having a seizure was actually putting him at a higher risk of having one. We tried everything to help him relax, but nothing seemed to work.
One night, shortly after Alec went to bed, we heard him talking to someone. I tiptoed back to his room and peeked in. By the light from the hallway, I could see a little lump of black fur on the blankets beside Alec. Princess was keeping him company. He stroked and petted her, speaking softly as he settled down on his pillow.
Smiling, I tiptoed back to the living room to tell my husband. Five minutes later, Alec was asleep. Curled up by his pillow, Princess snoozed, too. For the first time in a long time, Alec had fallen asleep easily. Princess stayed in his bed the whole night that night and many nights afterward.
After twelve years of keeping him at paw’s length, Princess finally decided to be friends with Alec when he needed her most. Just like a true best friend.
~April Serock
