First, I would like to thank all of you kind folks who kept in touch with me, either personally or through friends, during my two heart surgeries. Prayers and white candles, so much love and special healing powers were sent my way, both in my open-heart surgery last November (just before Thanksgiving), and again this past March when the implant was put into my chest. Margaret, bless her big heart and open arms, called every day to ensure everything was going okay (don't delete this part, M.B., we all know you're a wonderfully caring person disguised as a Northeasterner ...). God listened to all of you and to me and my worries, and I am doing well for now. What I'd like to do is to add what my Smokeyjo did. It still brings tears to my eyes.

     My surgery date (the BIG one) was November 14th. The night of the 13th I was in the bedroom packing a small suitcase as I knew I'd be in the hospital at least a week ... if I made it through. Only 43% of people who have the type of strokes I'd had make it through surgery. My mind was at peace however; either way I would be okay. As I was packing, my precious Smokeyjo was watching me. He sat on the floor next to the bed and just watched me. Now, Smoke generally is a bed-bug and is on that bed faster than anything else he does. But still he sat on the floor, just watching me.
As it didn't take long to wind me - only 13% of my heart was working (hey ... up to 18% now!), I had to sit down on the edge of the bed after a few moments to catch my breath. Smokeyjo just watched me. I looked at him and smiled, joking with him and invited him up to sit with me (he's normally quite the cuddle-bunny, even at 7 years old). Smokey simply sat on the floor, watching me. His expression was sad. Immensely sad. As I watched him watching me, tears began to roll out of his beautiful eyes, one after the other. Still he watched me, making no moves to touch me ... just watched me while tears fell off his precious cheeks. I talked softly to him, trying to reassure him that I'd be back. He just watched me, misery in his whole being but mostly in his sad eyes. We sat this way for perhaps twenty minutes until I couldn't handle it anymore and went out into the kitchen to pet the other ratties good night before I turned in. Smokey slept with me that night. He pressed in hard all night against my back, and hid his face in my hair, just like he was breathing in my scent. The next morning as I was leaving and saying goodbye, he was again tearing up. It was so very hard to leave him.

     Guy said he was "okay" while I was gone (10 days), although he didn't play like he normally does. The day I got back home, once I got settled in bed, Guy brought Smokeyjo in to greet me. Smoke had known I was home as I could hear him whining outside the bedroom door. Within moments of bringing him in, Smokeyjo was lying at my feet on the bed, all four of his feet wagging happily in the air, a big grin on his face, and he was laughing and laughing in joy. For the next several months, Smoke and Tigger and Silky were my constant companions, guardians and bed-warmers. The next surgery I had, Smokey watched me pack my suitcase, and there was worry on his beloved face, but not like before. He knew the difference between the seriousness of the two surgeries apparently.

     Anyway, this is a thank you to my hubby, Guy, my sister, Margaret, and my wonderful friends who buoyed me up to help me want to come home. And also this is a thank you to my four-legged furkids who waited for me at home.

With much love and appreciation ... Sherri Chatterton