Sheer vanity motivated me to get the wonky knee replaced. I would have a matched set and not have to spend my dotage toddling along behind a walker. Giving up cute shoes to accommodate bad knees was bad enough, but a walker – nuh uh, wasn’t happening.
Lying in the dark in a drug induced haze, watching the kaleidoscopes of weird people waltz around in my brain, was beginning to get on my nerves. Medication prescribed to relieve pain does not induce sleep. The predictable insomnia provides a backdrop for dark thoughts.
Suddenly, there is a gentle thud on my bed. I turn my gaze into the darkness and two green orbs appear at the tip of my nose. It is our cat Sybil. She nudges close to me settles in and begins to purr. She is a Daddy’s girl and wastes no opportunity to let me know I am second choice. I am touched she has come to keep me company.
I have always wondered if she had it in for me after I gave her the hairball remedy, but it would appear she does not. Comforted by her concern, I attempt once more to drift off to sleep, but Sybil nudges closer to my face and appears to be checking my breathing.
Sybil cuddles closer and with a jolt I recall story about the nursing home cat that makes a visit to the soon to be departed. By now I am double checking the weird cacophony of faces floating around to see if anyone resembles a banshee. I am clueless as to what a banshee looks like. Is it that weird character with a nose, no mouth and eyes that seems to float around somewhere in the land of nod? (Or in my case, no nod) Irish folklore says the banshee appears as a wailing woman who appears to whomever is about to make a one way trip to the other side.
Sybil joins her preferred human. Dawn arrives and the banshee failed to wail. The odd face with no nose has retreated and I am safe.
Categories: Biased, Unbalanced and Politically Incorrect
I am a lifelong Southerner, short story author, and essayist. Home is Dallas, Texas.
My essays have appeared in Flash Fiction Magazine, The Dead Mule School of Southern Writing.