7November
When I brought little Mason home from StMarys Hospital, the world seemed to shrink to the size of a newborns fragile body. He weighed only a few kilograms, his heartbeat a feeble thrum that threatened to falter.
The paediatrician had spoken gently after the delivery:
It’s not fatal, but its serious. Keep calm and try not to let him cry too much.
I nodded, slipping my finger into his tiny palm. He clutched it as if promising to fight. Yet the days that followed proved how arduous that fight would be.
Each night the infant awoke with a whimper, then a louder wail. His little chest strained, his lips turned blue, and I felt my own heart freeze.
Breathe, my darling please, I whispered, rocking him. Mums here, youre safe.
Nothing seemed to help.
Gordon, my husband, stayed close at first but soon began to pull away.
Youre coddling him too much, he said, weary. If you hold him all the time hell never learn to settle on his own.
Its not a tantrum, Gordon, hes ill! I protested.
He waved a hand, shut the bedroom door behind him, and the nights grew longer. I was exhausted, sometimes just sitting in the armchair, cradling Mason, listening to every creak in the house as if it were a scream.
One dawn, halfasleep, I felt something soft brush my ankle. Whiskers, our tabby, padded over, paused beside the cot and with a quiet meow leapt onto the edge.
No, no, you cant! I tried to catch her, but she was already settled beside the baby, nudging his chest gently with her nose.
Masons body loosened, his cries ceased, his breathing steadied, his cheek regained colour. Whiskers purred low, a sound that felt like an ancient lullaby.
I pressed a hand to my lips.
Miracle, I breathed.
When Gordon entered, the sight left him speechless.
Are you out of your mind? he shouted. Theres a cat on the baby! Youll choke him!
Look, I whispered. Hes finally sleeping for the first time in days.
He stared, then shut the door with a thud.
That night I could not dare to close my eyes. I sat in the chair, watching Whiskers lie gently on Masons chest, feeling his breath rise and fall. Something had shiftedan invisible thread of life humming in that soft purr.
The next morning, after Gordon left for work, I placed the cat back beside my son. Whiskers curled up, and Mason smiled faintly.
Youre our little doctor, Whiskers, I murmured, smiling back at her.
Within a few days the improvement was clear. Mason no longer gagged or turned ashen. Each evening, when Whiskers settled on his chest, he drifted off peacefully.
The neighbours, of course, did not understand.
Aunt Eleanor, who lives next door, shook her head one afternoon. Clara, thats unhealthy! Cats carry germs. Id never let you do that.
I nodded politely, but inside a fire sparked.
Sister Margaret, ever the stern one, added, Are you mad? Youre risking the child’s life! Cat hair triggers allergies!
If it werent for her, he would have suffocated, I replied quietly, and a tension hung between us.
Weeks passed; Mason grew stronger, his cheeks pink, his breath even. Even the doctors noted his progress.
Gordons patience finally snapped one evening when he saw Whiskers again on the cot.
Enough! Either the cat goes, or I go! he roared.
Mason startled, began to cry, but Whiskers nudged his nose against the babys. The sobbing faded.
I sat up straight, voice soft, Then go, Gordon. She isnt just a cat; shes his medicine.
He stood, stunned, turned, and walked out, the door slamming behind him. I did not weep; I knew I had done what was right.
A month later, the checkup day arrived. I held Mason trembling in my arms as DrPatel listened.
Pulse normal breathing steady remarkable, he said, smiling. Clara, this is extraordinary. Your boys heart is much stronger now.
Really? I whispered.
Yes. Something at home must be soothing him. Has anything changed?
I told him about Whiskers. He chuckled.
You know, many dismiss it, but the sound of a cats purr does lower stress and can regularise heart rhythm. Perhaps your Whiskers saved him.
I laughed through tears.
When we got home, Gordon was waiting. He approached the cot, where Whiskers was again nestled against Mason, and said quietly, Take good care of him, alright?
I stood by the doorway, listening to the gentle purrs and Masons even breathing. The fear, the doubts, the argumentsall had faded, leaving only a quiet peace where love worked its quiet magic.
Tonight I wrote in my diary: Not all miracles are seen; some simply purr.
