What a cat and a kangaroo mouse taught me about living with COPD
Their quiet rebellion showed the limitation of making assumptions
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Herbie was a kangaroo mouse with a taste for luxury. Not the kind you’d find in catalogs or corner offices, but the kind that came from Snowball’s belly — soft tufts of fur pulled gently through the bars of his cage to line his nest. Snowball, a long-haired white cat with the patience of a saint and the mischief of a moonshiner, would perch atop his cage like a guardian angel with claws. Neighbors watched. Children giggled. And I, living with chronic obstructive pulmonary disease (COPD), watched too, because something about their friendship felt familiar.
Living with lung disease is like nesting with borrowed fur. You learn to line your days with softness: a humidifier’s mist, a well-placed chair, the rhythm of a nebulizer. You adapt. You tug comfort from unlikely places. And sometimes, like Herbie, you escape the cage, only to find yourself under the cabinet, facing a bet you didn’t ask for.
Assumptions that miss the truth
In the late ’60s, insurance agents still made house calls. As I was attempting to get Herbie out from under the cabinet, the doorbell rang. It was an insurance agent who said Snowball would kill Herbie. I said she wouldn’t. He offered six months of free homeowner’s insurance if I was right. I coaxed Herbie out with a peanut.
Snowball, who was watching everything from a dining room chair, jumped down and licked Herbie’s ears. The agent kept his word, and I got six months of free insurance.
That moment, tender and triumphant, reminded me that assumptions about fragility often miss the truth. People assume that illness makes us weak, that breathlessness makes us dependent, that cats kill mice. But sometimes, the mouse builds a nest from the cat’s generosity. And sometimes, the cat becomes a co-conspirator in survival.
Sometimes people hear the wheeze and forget the wisdom gained from the affliction. What they don’t see is the quiet rebellion: the mouse who builds a nest from generosity, the cat who guards instead of hunts, the person with COPD who reclaims agency in breath-sized acts. We defy the bet every day by showing up, by asking for help, by offering it in return.
Clinical insight tells us that COPD is progressive, but it doesn’t tell us how to live with it. That part we learn from Herbie and Snowball. From the way they rewrote the rules of survival with softness and mischief. We learn to escape the cage, to find breath under the cabinet, and to trust that not every paw is a threat.
Living with COPD has taught me that safety isn’t always about control — it’s about trust. It’s about knowing which cages to open, which fur to offer, and which bets to defy. Snowball didn’t guard Herbie out of obligation. She did it because something in her recognized the value of softness, of shared space, of letting the mouse tug comfort from her belly.
That’s what we do when we offer help without pity, when we respect boundaries without retreat. When we let someone nest in our presence, even if their breath is different from ours.
The ripple effect of that moment — Herbie emerging, Snowball licking his ears, the agent stunned into generosity — reminds me that small acts matter. A peanut. A paw. A bet defied. A breath reclaimed.
Note: COPD News Today is strictly a news and information website about the disease. It does not provide medical advice, diagnosis, or treatment. This content is not intended to be a substitute for professional medical advice, diagnosis, or treatment. Always consult your physician or other qualified healthcare provider with any questions you may have regarding a medical condition. Never disregard professional medical advice or delay in seeking it because of something you have read on this website. The opinions expressed in this column are not those of COPD News Today or its parent company, Bionews, and are intended to spark discussion about issues about chronic obstructive pulmonary disease.
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