The Cat Who Wouldn’t Let Her Sleep
In those days, I often received calls at the oddest hours. People seemed convinced that if you were a vet, you could answer every riddle in the worldespecially at two in the morning, when you were barely awake and your own cat was snuggled up on your chest.
But this time, the call came in the afternoon. The womans voice sounded so utterly exhausted, as though she had just weathered a sleepless night, that I instinctively checked the clock to make sure it really was daytime.
Hello, is this Georges surgery? the voice asked, wary, as if I might bite at any moment.
Yes, this is the practice. Im George, the vet.
My name is Dorothy. Ive got an appointment today. I its about my cat. He wont let me sleep.
Well, about a cat who wont let you sleep could mean anythingfrom fleas to a full-blown midlife crisis.
Come by, well sort it, I replied. We take all creatures great and smalland their owners sleeplessness.
Dorothy entered my consulting room quietly, almost reverently. She was around fifty, with a neat bob and a thoughtfully buttoned coat, as though she was attending something far more important. The handbag never left her armher whole life inside it. She held the cat carrier like it was filled with crystal; something grumbled within.
This is Lord Percy, she said. Though at night, hes not so much a lordmore like a no-nonsense nurse from St Marys.
She set the carrier on the table, and two large amber eyes assessed me coolly. Out came a cloud of a cat: grey, fluffy, round as a Christmas pudding with ears. He decided I was harmless enough and turned away, sulking in the corner.
So lets see your nurse, then, I said. Tell me everything.
Dorothy sighedone of those sighs that held not just the weight of a cat, but the world.
He wakes me every night. Not just a bit of noisehes determined. Three or four in the morning, he paws at my cheek, and if I dont stir, he swipes hardereven bites at times. Pulls the duvet, races up and down me, until I finally give in and go to sleep on the lounge sofa. Only then does he settle.
And the sofa isnt to his taste? I asked.
Hes perfectly content on the sofa, she huffed, almost affronted. He curls up on my pillow in the bedroom all night while I toss and turn on the lounge sofa. I loathe that sofa. Used to camp there when my husband snored, and now the cats taken over.
I spared a glance at Lord Percy. He feigned dignified absence.
How longs this been going on?
Three months. At first, I blamed springhormones, madness. Then summer and the heat. Now its autumn, and still he wont stop. Before, hed sleep beside me, like a proper cat. Now he boots me out.
She looked away.
Ive got high blood pressure, George. Im on medication. I need proper sleep, but I run our block of flatsmanaging the lift alone is something else. Now Im like a zombie at work. Sometimes I cant stand the sight of him. Locked him in the kitchen once or twice, but he yowled so loud the neighbours knocked.
So you think the cats lost his mind? I asked gently.
Who else? she bristled. The GP said it was nerves and prescribed some pills. Took themdidnt help me wake up any less. Is there something I can give him to calm him?
I opened the carrier. Lord Percy made a show of reluctance, but curiosity won out. He was heavy, his coat gleamed, his eyes were clear; he breathed evenly and his heart was steady. A picture of health. No trace of a neurotic night nurse.
But you could see it in the way he watched his ownernot like a mother, but as if she were his personal project. Concern, but never panic.
Has he always been this way? I asked.
He used to be serene, Dorothy replied. Perfect, really, when my husband was alive. He adored himwatched the football together. When my husband passed, Percy moved to me. We slept together, and it was a comfort, someone breathing nearby.
And now he doesnt want you breathing nearby? I said.
Exactly! she snapped, though with a grim sort of wit. I joke that hes evicting me from the bedroom. The shameless beast.
Lord Percy sat by me, placing one paw delicately on my shoe. Perhaps not so shameless after all.
Lets clarify, I said. You say he wakes you at three or four in the morning?
Yes, almost always.
And before that, you slept fine?
I suppose so, she shrugged. Go to bed at eleven, take my blood pressure tablet, drift off. Then its like falling into a hole, and he drags me out.
How do you feel when you wake?
Awful, she confessed. Heavy head, heart racing, mouth dry, sometimes its hard to breathe. I pop a pill under my tongue and crawl to the sofa, and in twenty minutes, it passes.
I asked a few more questionsabout snoring, pauses in breathing, weird feelings in the night. It was working my way out of veterinary territory and toward medicine for humans, but if the cat was reacting to her night-time signals, something needed attention.
Look here, I said. Animals are dear to me, but you are the patient in question.
What do you mean? Dorothy frowned.
Lord Percy is healthy. Hes not mad, and hes not grown to hate your bedroom. Hes responding to something that happens to you at nightabrupt movements, troubled breathing, perhaps pauses. It unsettles him. He wakes you until you change positions or move somewhere your breathing eases.
Dorothy stared at me as if I were recounting tales of dragons and sprites.
So you think hes saving me?
I cant prove it, I shrugged. We cant put sensors on the both of you. But from what I see, hes reacting to you, not throwing fits.
But the doctor said it was nerves! she protested.
Marvelous, I nodded. Nerves is the catch-all for everything. But youve described high blood pressure, rapid heartbeat, shortness of breath, and a cat who acts as your alarm. If I were your doctor, Id start with blood tests, check your heart and breathing. Thats what needs investigating.
Blood test? she repeated.
Any kind. The key is admitting the problem may not be your cat. I cant treat people, Im a vet. But pleaseask your doctor to check your heart, breathing, and do a blood screening.
Dorothy managed a lopsided smile.
Theyll laugh at me.
Let them laugh, I replied. Better silly and alive, than dignified and gone. And Im not prescribing Percy any sedatives, either. Not because Im stingy, but because if we numb his vigilance, youll lose your midnight watchman. Id feel terrible if something happened.
She left, a bit put-out. Shed arrived wanting to fix her cat, and now had to fix herself. Never a pleasant surprise. Its always easier to blame the animal than admit it might just be us who are out of tune.
To be honest, I wasnt sure shed go to the clinic. Many simply shrug: Itll sort itself out.
Yet, a fortnight later, Dorothy returnedno carrier, just herself. Her face looked as though shed aged a decade in a week.
George, she called from the doorway. Ive got a report for you.
I love it when people bring news. Its like finishing a novelyou want the ending.
Im listening, Dorothy.
She sat, resting her handbag on her lap, and drew a breath.
I did as you said. Saw the GP. At first, he chuckledCat waking you? Kick him out. I handed over your notefrom the vet.
I winced.
Not sure that helps the truce between us and human doctors.
I dont care, she said briskly. I was desperate. I demanded at least a basic blood test. They checked everything: blood count, chemistry, sugar. A few days later, the call came: Please come back in.
Thats rarely good news, I observed.
And it wasnt, she agreed. My sugar levels were sky-high. I thought I just had a sweet tooth. Turns out, Ive got diabetes. The numbers said it, and so did the way I felt. Off to the diabetes clinic I went. The endocrinologist spent ages with me. He asked, And how are you at night? I said, Terrible. Cat wakes me. Heart pounds, I cant breathe. He just said, It isnt the cats fault. Your blood sugar drops dangerously at nightthe body panics. Your heart races, youre out of breath. Your cat notices and wakes you.
She gave a wry little laugh.
At first I thought you two were in cahoots. But then he showed me the printoutthe 24-hour sugar monitor. Like clockwork: low at three, picks up at three ten, another dip at four. Exactly when Percy wakes me.
I just nodded.
Now Ive got a full regimediet, pills, injections At first I cried, as if it were a sentence. Then I thoughtif it werent for Percy how much longer would I have gone on, never knowing? I could have just not woken up, I suppose.
She fell silent.
So thank you. Thank you for talking me out of medicating him.
I sighed with relief. Some days, that inner cynic steps aside and lets the optimist win a round.
And Percy?
Thats just it, she smiled. Once my treatment started, he hardly ever wakes me now. The first few nights hed check on me, prod me gently. Then, once I was stable, he seemed to relax. Now he sleeps by me again. If I do overindulge in pudding, she admitted, he still visits.
Youve got a living blood sugar monitor, I grinned.
A furry one, she nodded. He only accepts wet food for his wages.
I saw her out, then at last allowed myself a deep breath.
People insist its all coincidence or not to humanise animals, but after seeing my tenth cat or dog react to blood pressure, sugar, or fitswell, you start to think of them as an early warning system.
They know nothing of hypoglycaemia, cant interpret bloods, read no consultants notes. They simply sense, at three in the morning, that somethings suddenly wrong with us: our scent, breath, heartbeatdifferent. And they have two choices: slink beneath the bed or prod our cheek until we stir. Most choose the latter.
Yet we complain: The cat wont let me rest, the dog barks at night. We want to dose them, lock them in kitchens, pass them to a new home. Anything rather than ask the simplest of questions: am I the one who needs a visit to the doctor?
Thats why Ive no fondness for sleeplessnessmine or anyone elses. If the cats marching you off the bed onto the sofa, it might just be a bad habit. But sometimes its a tiny, persistent living alarm. Not a voice saying, Your sugars up or Go get checked. Just waking you, over and over, until you finally do.
And yes, I am still a vet. I wont diagnose people or hand out miracle pills. But if given the choice between quieting a cat and sending someone for testsIll always choose the latter, at least in my heart.
Cats may keep us from sleeping. But far more often, they save us from quietly slipping away from our own health.
