From that day on, Mrs. Penn slowly recovered. Dr. Stevens said it was due to the medicine he’d given her, and I didn’t argue, knowing that his formula for what ailed Mrs. Penn used the very same ingredients I had recommended. But I knew something he didn’t. It was the purr of my familiar that had kept Mrs. Penn from diving down into death’s spiral. Willow had saved her life.
The two had bonded during their time together, the kitten spending almost every moment beside her in the bed. The soups I’d been fixing Mrs. Penn were replaced soon by normal meals. Willow, who up to that time had never been willing to eat from anyone’s dish but mine, began accepting pieces of meat or vegetables that Mrs. Penn offered her.
Poor Frey was feeling rejected since Willow was spending so little time with him. I promised the stallion extra treats and began grooming him twice a day to help make up for his loneliness. The boys helped, too, although Carlo only liked the feeding carrots part. Grooming, even with a step stool, was not agreeable to him. I think he was afraid of being up high, or having Frey move unexpectantly which he feared might send him tumbling down to the ground.
Frances dutifully began reading to Mrs. Penn, and, of course, Carlo, his forever shadow, sat beside him and listened. It was good for all three of them, and Willow purred the whole time, obviously delighted by all the positive vibes flowing about the room.
A week later, Dr. Stevens declared Mrs. Penn able to get up for a bit. Then the reading activity moved into the living room. Carlo liked that better because he could sit on the ground playing with his toys while listening to the purring cat, his big brother’s reading, and Mrs. Penn’s light discourse.
And me? I was as happy as the rest of them. Maybe even more so. Life was turning sweet as the boy’s favorite banana ice cream. (Not my favorite, but no one else liked vanilla.) Oh, and Frank, who still spent most of his off hours at the house, had completely stopped glaring at me.
Old Mother used to warn me that When Nature is plump, the fattened fawn grows lazy. That had made no sense at the time. Nature’s weaning process usually took place during times of scarcity, but Old Mother was the smartest person I’d ever met. She knew things that no one else did. She was right about this, too. I was the fattened fawn.