Baby I'm Longing For- First Draft

In Sickness and in Health

The light had began to dim when Jazzie stirred. She was where she loved to be more than anywhere else, struggled against the velvety soft fur of her beautiful silver male. But for some reason, something didn't feel quite right. She stretched her legs and gently kneaded him with her paws, trying to shift the uncomfortable feeling, but it only grew stronger. She buried her cheek into his fur, finding momentary comfort in having his warm body pressed against hers and the thud of his heartbeat against her ears. Then suddenly, a scent filled her nostrils. In fact, she could smell everything. The wood from the floorboards, the detergent from the woollen blankets, even the rust from the corrugated iron roof. She wished she could switch off her sense of smell, for it felt overloaded and she began to feel very queer. Then another scent hit her. One that was so familiar. One that she couldn't usually get enough of hung sickly in the back of her throat. It was him. His sweet burly scent, which smelled like Chipre and intoxicated her whenever she breathed it in, was now making her feel queasy, as though she had finally overdosed on it. Suddenly overwhelmed with nausea, she staggered from the bed and only just made it to the sink in time to throw up into it. She cried out as her guts continued to twist and heave long after they'd been emptied, as she retched and gagged.

"Mon Dieu, make it stop!" She thought. Just when she thought she couldn't take any more, the feeling lifted and she leaned weakly against the sink, gulping in air. She felt someone caress her ears, but she shrugged away.

"Don't...sorry..." she whispered harshly. She could almost feel his heart breaking behind her, but there was nothing she could do about it, and he remained silent as he filled up a cup with spring water and handed it to her.

"And so it begins," he said.

"Thank you," she answered graciously, taking a small sip, "you've done this before haven't you?"

"Enough times." She looked into his face. It was stoic, but he couldn't fool her anymore. She could see the pain that he was trying to hide behind his eyes. Although he had accepted what was happening, it still hurt him deeply that he couldn't even comfort her and that they're time together was at an end.

"Sorry about your sink," she apologised, "I clean up..." but he put a paw on hers to stop her.

"Don't worry about it." Then he smiled. "I don't suppose you'd like a cup of tea?" She clapped a paw to her mouth, and once again began heaving into the sink. "I'll take that as a 'no' then?" he chuckled. He shivered a little as he busied himself with the tea making, but thought nothing of it, putting it down to sympathy pains. He often got those!

Despite his protests that he'd sort it, Jazzie was true to her word and thoroughly scrubbed the sink, still feeling a dull sense of nagging queasiness, but she wasn't going to be sick again. She hoped. "How about one final yoga session?" he suggested, "It'll make us feel better."

"Us?" She asked as she followed him outside and jumped down off the scrap pile and into the clearing. She looked at him, but he didn't elaborate, which immediately set off the suspicion bell in her brain. "Munkustrap, what are you hiding?" She demanded.

"I'm not hiding anything! Come on, Samastitihi. And this time, I am going to follow you."

"Pourquoi?" She asked as she faced him in the equal standing position, with her toes together and arms by her sides.

"I don't fancy doing anything too taxing today."

"And why not?"

"I'm just, feeling a little tired, nothing for you to worry yourself over!" He insisted when she looked like she was about to start an argument. "Now breathe."