This is Geordi. He was a friendly farm cat who was about to be taken to a shelter, so I offered to take him. He liked to hang out and was a really easy going guy. The only cat I’ve ever had that didn’t mind being taken to the vet. He’d love to be petted, but he’s never been a lap cat or overly sensitive. He also never slept on my bed even though I tried to put him there. He preferred to lie on the couch alone or roll around on the floor.
I have post-traumatic stress disorder, which has improved significantly over the past few years, but used to be characterized by extreme anxiety and especially night terrors. I would have nightmares so terrifyingly real, I would wake up in a cold sweat and convinced I was having a heart attack. On many occasions I instead woke Geordi – who was quite a big guy – laying on my chest and nudging me with his nose to wake him up. His weight was comforting.
He stayed there until I calmed down, then simply jumped off and left. The ONLY time he did that was when I was in the middle of a horrible nightmare – I couldn’t pay him to lie on my chest in bed otherwise. I still have no idea how he could tell what was going on. My husband says I don’t talk, thrash or scream in my sleep, but somehow this cat knew I needed help. Geordi died last year aged 13 from a heart tumor and I miss him terribly. But I am so thankful for the times he saved me from myself.