After dinner, Frank volunteered to do the dishes. He got the boys to help. (I cringed a little at that, wondering what the kitchen floor would look like when the dishes were done, but I also knew that it was a good thing when boys were taught that kitchen duty was not a woman’s thing. Learning that meal prep required clean-up was also a useful concept.)
Dr. Stevens and I entered the room where Mrs. Penn was sleeping. I was carrying a tray of food, and he had his medical bag. Mrs. Penn opened her eyes and ordered me to take the food away, saying that the sight and smell of it made her feel ill. I offered to fix her some soup, but she didn’t act like that would be welcome either.
Meanwhile, the doctor and I made sure that our patient drank some water. I had brought some apple juice, as well, but Mrs. Penn wasn’t willing to even take a sip of that.
Dr. Stevens did his doctor thing, administered some liquid medications, which he assured Mrs. Penn and me would fix her right up, then departed. The moment he left, Willow came running into the room, jumped up on the bed and walked her way up to Mrs. Penn. I tried to stop the kitten, but she dodged my efforts. Meanwhile, her purr was so loud that Mrs. Penn opened her eyes.
“Why, Willow has come to see me,” Mrs. Penn said, sounding so pleased that I stopped trying to stop Willow from rubbing her kitty face against Mrs. Penn.
“Should I take her away?” I asked.
Mrs. Penn shook her head, smiled at me, and spoke. “Absolutely not. I feel better with Willow here. Will you let her stay with me? Please?”
“You remember that she’s only a kitten. Any moment now she’ll decide to jump on a toe she thinks is wiggling, lick your cheek, or attack your hair.”
Mrs. Penn actually let out a giggle. A girlishly cute giggle! “Oh, I hope so,” she said.
She reached out and petted the kitty, stroking her head, then under her chin. Willow’s purr grew even louder, although I wouldn’t have thought such a thing were possible. I mean, it was already so loud, it sounded like the boys when they crooned along with one of the songs I sang to them at night.
“Oh, my,” Mrs. Penn giggled again. “I think I’d love a cup of tea. Would you mind making one for me, Shama?”
Of course I agreed. I left Willow as she was, up on the bed, snuggling right on top of Mrs. Penn’s pillow. The purr was still going, Mrs. Penn was chatting to the kitten, and both of them looked as content as a small child with his first ice cream cone.
When I returned with the cup of tea, it was to find both kitten and Mrs. Penn fast asleep, both tucked under the blankets. I set the cup of tea by the bedside, in case Mrs. Penn woke up later, but I figured it had been a wasted trip — except, I could hear the exhale of Mrs. Penn’s gentle snores. Her breathing sounded better, no longer as congested. Her chest wasn’t heaving giant whistles and lengthy stressed breaths, either.
I left the door open in case Willow needed to leave, but just before I exited the room, I met the half-opened eye of a fuzzy kitten.
Thank you, Willow, I thought in witch tongue. The kitten yawned, tucked her head back under the cover, and purred with a renewed and mighty motor.