The combination of cat and sickness reminded me of this.
My late Boots, a very boss tuxedo who was very much the Queen of all she surveyed, had this hidden streak of mama-henness that didn't come out unless I was not well, either sick or hurting from something. She was also a cat of sizable girth.
Imagine if you will, that you're finally unconscious from the blessed medication that the doctor gave you for your annual bought of Bronchitis of Doom, only to be rudely awakened by something warm, heavy and furry on your head while something damp and rough rasped away at your poor sore nose that just finished draining the latest batch of ickiness from your sinus cavities. Yes, it was Boots. Bad enough she thought camping out on my head would help me feel better, not really, because she was very, very warm, and very, very heavy. But having her decide that your nose isn't sufficiently drained on its own, and very sore from the amount of tissues you'd just gone through, and start cleaning it.
Yeah, that's an experience you never forget, though you wish you did.
It may not be as gross as many other stories here. I was sufficiently squicked out because I saw what was coming out of my nose.
The irony of the whole thing is that mom and I would have to bathe her every so often because she wasn't very meticulous on keeping herself clean. When her white parts started looking yellowish, we'd threaten her with a bath. So she's coerce mom's cat Sophie, who was a neat freak even by cat standards, into cleaning her. I think Sophie preferred that, since there were a few times she'd look at the state Boots was in and shudder.
