Hi, my name is Mike, I prefer tuna to chicken, walk with a limp, and might be a reincarnated deity

Big Mike is finally experiencing a real improvement – his wound is starting to heal more quickly. Huzzah! The difference, I think, has been some high-tech (read: expensive) new first aid supplies sent to me by my rescue ace friend Sandy. A hand-held laser, some bandage patches with colloidal minerals, second skin spray, silver spray… I believe that these are things that have turned things around, and I am awash in gratitude.

Mike? All he knows is that every 2-3 days I drag him out from under the bed, put him up on the bathroom counter, and put him through about 20 minutes of misery, while someone able (with my feeble assistance) removes the existing bandages from his open wound, redoes them after about 15 healing steps – some of which cause him great pain.

How does he react to this brutal doctoring? He curls up in a ball, and all but goes to sleep. It’s really quite remarkable – even the vet can’t quite believe it. And when we’re done, and I put him back under the bed in his safe place, I just assume he’ll take hours before “speaking” to me again. But yesterday, after Dr. Sue’s visit, I went back after 15 minutes to apologize. He saw me, stretched luxuriously, and came out to rub against me. As nurse Kim puts it, “he seems to just really GET IT – that you’re trying to help. I think he’s a really old soul.”

This was never more evident than last week, after Kim and I changed his bandages one day, and the next morning they were down around his ankle, leaving his wound exposed as he had also peeled off the stocking covering the bandages. I almost melted down. Are you kidding me, you bad boy?? I whispered, and left to collect myself.

When I went back in, he came out, rubbed against me, and curled up on the floor next to me, assuming the position he takes when he is worked on. I was stunned. Another time, as I was visiting with Big Mike by lying on the floor next to him, window open to the August sea breezes, a baby started crying nearby. Loudly. Mike lifted his head toward the window, and seemed to listen intently for a long minute or two while the baby continued to wail. Something seemed to click in his big head (ah, yes, a human baby!), and he relaxed again. I just stared at him. Who ARE you? I asked. He just blinked wisely, Buddha-like.

Anyway, I am beginning to think that Big Mike’s and my bond might be karmic, and that he’s got a great, big, interesting story that goes back lifetimes. Darling boy, what are you working out to have come to this lifetime and found me in your darkest moment? I don’t know – it’s not important that I know – but I do know that when it comes time to find a home for him (it crushes me to even think of it) it will need to be with someone I know. Well. Who will let me visit. Often.

Guardians of all critters, thanks for the assist. Help me see this through with a maximum of love and a minimum of tears.