My Mom calls me a “healer” because I make people feel better. When I’m around, they focus on my cuteness and forget their worries for a little while. And they feel loved. One time a nice Chinese woman responded to me in the most curious way. She petted me then rubbed her head with the same hand. Petted me then rubbed her neck with the same hand. She kept repeating the actions. Pet. Rub. Pet. Rub. It’s like she was massaging a lotion or oil (“Essence of Shamzi”) in to her skin. All the time she murmured to me in Cantonese, which is not one of the many languages that I speak. I couldn’t understand what she was saying or doing, but I enjoyed her and remained mellow. That is, until she suddenly lifted me and tried to put me on her head like I was a hat. I couldn’t help it; I shrieked. She dropped me. She became upset and said something in Cantonese to one of the nurses, who translated for me and my Mom. “He doesn’t like me!” she wailed. My Mom reassured her, “No, no, of course he likes you. You probably squeezed him in a sensitive area.”
After some more discussion and translation, we realized that the nice woman thought I was an actual healer, you know, the lay-hands-on-me-and-make-me-walk-again kind of healer. She was trying to put me in contact with her head and neck, where she felt pain. When my Mom explained that I wasn’t that kind of healer (I’m good, but not that good), the nice woman quietly replied “Oh? But my head and my neck feel better now.” Then she went back to petting me, then rubbing her head and neck after petting me.
But she didn’t try to wear me like a hat anymore.