My wife Agatha and her cat Blackbell had been together since childhood. Agatha had always loved that cat like the sister she never had.

I have never been fond of cats, but for Agatha's sake, I tried to love that cat. The cat, however, did not reciprocate. She hissed if I came near her, and scratched my arm when I tried to pet her.

Agatha knew that Blackbell didn't like me, and somehow, this was my fault. “What have you done to make her dislike you so much?” she often asked.

After some time, I got tired of the cat always troubling me and Agatha always blaming me for nothing, so I began kicking the cat whenever Agatha wasn't looking. As well, Blackbell would scratch and bite me whenever she got the chance.

One day when Agatha was out shopping, Blackbell leaped from the upper kitchen cabinet and fastened herself onto my head. Her front claws dug deeply into my forehead. I started spinning and slapping at the cat but she wouldn't let go. So I began choking her; she fell to the floor—dead.

I began to panic. Agatha would hate me forever. I knew that I had to revive the cat, so I gave Blackbell CPR with my mouth. She finally came to, but when she did she was so startled that she scratched my cheek.

In reaction, I flung her against the wall and she fell into the kitchen sink—dead again, and wet.

How will I explain all this to Agatha? No doubt, she'll think I drowned her cat on purpose. So I decided to dry the cat off. I grabbed a towel and sat down and began rubbing the cat with brisk strokes. To my surprise, Blackbell came to again—she's alive!

At that moment, Agatha came home. She saw me kindly stroking Blackbell with the towel. She smiled and said, “I never thought I’d see such a wonderful thing. I'm so happy to see that you two have made up.” Then she saw the scratches on my face. “Oh, sweetheart, what happened to you?”

“Dear, you won't believe what happened. I took Blackbell outside for some fresh air when suddenly a dog began chasing her. She ran and got stuck behind the rose bushes and the dog was trying to get her. So I jumped into that thorny rose bush and grabbed Blackbell—that's how I got these scratches—and I beat off the dog with a stick. After all that commotion, Blackbell was so dirty that I decided to give her a bath and I was just drying her off when you came home,”

I smiled.

“Oh, my hero,” she said, as she gently kissed my wounded cheek.

Blackbell never troubled me anymore, but she was never quite right in the head after that.