Monday, 27 July 2015

Meet Morrigan

Morrigan is my little black cat. I have had her since she was a tiny kitten who could sit in the palm of my hand (and if you could see my hands you would realise just how small that is.) She is also my health indicator and carer.

Two different types of crash.

My conditions often cause what is referred to as a crash - a flair up of symptoms that leave me incapable of doing much.
Over time I have come to realise that I have two different types of crash. The most common is where I have pushed myself too much and not had time to pace myself. I usually know when these are coming and have the chance to make sure I am alone. Feeling your body shut down bit by bit is not much fun but it is the price I have to pay if I go out anywhere. It is my bodies way of giving me a kick and saying enough is enough. These crashes last anything between a day and five, though if I have let myself run down over time it may be longer. They are as much a part of my life as sleeping and waking.

The other crash however is one I never see coming. It hits out of the blue and lays me out for at least a week. The pain involved is horrendous, like my body between my waist and mid thigh’s are burning constantly. The rest hurts in all the usual places but it is barely noticeable against the burning. I shake and tremble, feel nauseous, loose my appetite and can barely stand. I feel incapable of anything but staying in bed and trying to sleep through it as best I can. These crashes are a nightmare, they take away my ability to cope with anything especially thoughts of the future. I am literally reduced to a shameful wreck.

The sixth sense of the cat.

Morrigan however always sees these crashes coming. She starts to cling to me everywhere I go, rarely leaving the house. After a few days of decline I end up in bed and she stays with me pretty much the whole time. If she isn’t laid on me she is pushed up close to my side, only leaving to go out and catch a mouse or bird and bring it back to me with a yowl.
I used to find it annoying, especially when my body was so painful I couldn’t bear even her slight weight on me. Now I realise what she is doing and I am truly grateful. - I would much prefer that she didn’t try to feed me though.

I judge my recovery by the way she is around me. When she finally decides she can lay elsewhere in the room I know I have got through it and can relax. She stays a little clingy for a few more days and then she is back to her usual rogue self.

I hear lots of stories of pets that can identify illness in their owners, I would love to hear about yours.

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