“Two things are aesthetically perfect in the world—the clock and the cat.”
EMILE AUGUSTE CHARTIER
CATS MAY HAVE NINE LIVES, BUT WE ONLY HAVE ONE and we’re all terrified to talk about the ending of it.
“Nobody likes to talk about death,” Cyndy Viveiros said, looking at me across the desk. “It’s like the dirty D word we aren’t allowed to use in polite company.”
I knew what she meant.
“During those last few weeks, very few…” She paused. “Look, I understand how hard it is for people to confront their fears, but for the most part, I was alone. Certainly the staff at the nursing home was great. I couldn’t ask for more. But they would come and go at the end of their shifts.”
She gathered her thoughts.
“Dr. Dosa, you asked me here to talk about Oscar. So here it is. I appreciated Oscar for what he did for my mother. But I also truly believe that he was there for me. During the last few weeks of her life, Oscar was in and out of her room all of the time, and I found that incredibly comforting.”
“So, you think Oscar was there for you as much as your mother?” It reminded me of the last thing Jack McCullough had said to me.
“I think he was there for me,” Cyndy repeated. “In fact, I’m sure of it.”
“IT HAD BEEN a long three weeks at Steere House and I think I’d spent most of my visiting time seated in a chair by my mother’s bed. The room had become my world. Unless I was singing church hymns to her, the constant drone of the oxygen machine and my mother’s breathing were the soundtrack of those early mornings. For the last three weeks, the life had seemed to ebb out of her like an outgoing tide. There was a certainty to those days, though, a certainty that those were the last days of my mother’s life and sometimes a certainty that those days would never end.
“The last day of her life, I remember watching the clock and rubbing my eyes. A lot. It could be two in the morning but I had no intention of leaving. Still, as the minute hand would trudge its way around the clock on Mom’s nightstand I told myself that it would happen soon: one last breath, and then silence. At least that’s what the hospice nurses told me to expect. Yet after days of watching Mom’s chest moving rhythmically up and down, I wasn’t sure that the end would ever come.
“Even Oscar seemed a little confused by her stamina. The cat that everyone said could predict death had been in and out of the room every day for the past few weeks, and nothing. But those last few days there seemed to be a greater sense of purpose to his stride.
“I remember that last day I was there he walked over to me and sat down. When I had leaned down to pet him he purred softly, so I picked him up and placed him on my lap. I rubbed that soft belly of his while we both watched Mom across the darkened room. Before long, though, Oscar had jumped off my lap and onto the covers. Then, look, I know this sounds strange, but he seemed to sniff the air, and then he rolled over on his back and gave this very catlike stretch. It was almost as if he was striking a pose,” she said, chuckling.
Cyndy looked up at me to gauge my reaction.
“You know, Oscar can be very charming, when he wants to be!” she added, attempting to justify her earlier comment. “Well, at any rate, Oscar looked over at my mother and fixed his gaze on her. I wondered if this was his sign. I think I even asked him, ‘Will it happen soon?’”
If he knew, Oscar wasn’t telling.
“You know, Dr. Dosa, at first I had found Oscar’s visits a little unsettling.” Cyndy paused, unsure of what to say next. “I knew Oscar’s game. I had even had dreams about him sitting on Mom’s bed, terrible dreams that woke me up out of a sound sleep and always at the same time each night: 3:00 am. It was just weird.
“During the first week of my watch Oscar would stroll by the doorway and stand at the threshold, peering into the room. At first I eyed him with anxiety, wondering if he’d cross over into our world. That’s how I thought of that room, as my world.”
Cyndy broke into a smile.
“After a while I came to realize that my fears were unfounded. I mean, for goodness sake. He wasn’t anything supernatural. He didn’t carry a scythe or a pitchfork. He was just an ordinary house cat. My mom loved cats. In fact, when I had first looked at nursing homes, I thought Mom might take some solace from the animals running around the unit, and she had.
“Now that I knew Oscar, he wasn’t threatening. In fact, he had offered me more companionship than anyone. I had a lot of concerned phone calls, and people tried to be kind, but in the end only two people actually came to visit Mom. I get it. Nobody wants to visit a nursing home, let alone the dying. It’s like running into a burning building; the impulse is to run the other way. But Oscar, well, he was different. He didn’t shy away. Actually, he seemed to know when he was needed most.
“You know, the first day I saw Oscar sitting in Mom’s doorway I had watched him with a feeling of trepidation, I guess. He just sauntered in and walked over to Mom’s bed. I knew what a visit from Oscar might mean, and I guess I held my breath. But instead of jumping onto Mom’s bed he sat down beside me. He seated himself on his hind legs on the chair next to me and looked up at me, as if to ask how I’m doing. Can you imagine?
“When I reached down to pet his head, well, he gave me a long, loud purr as if he was real satisfied with himself.”
As if, I thought.
“Then, just like that, he leaped onto the windowsill and settled himself in a classic sphinx pose. You know the one I mean, Dr. Dosa?”
“I do indeed,” I replied. I really did know the pose. It was regal and mysterious, as if our own Oscar was descended from Egypt, as if he was in some way a temple guardian. Actually, maybe the idea wasn’t too far off.
“Well, Oscar spent a good amount of time sitting on that windowsill, studying the world both inside and out. Each day he was there to greet me at the front door of the unit, and, well, he seemed to escort me down the hall to Mom’s room. He’d stay with me for the whole visit.
“I really warmed to the little guy, you know? Soon I even found his presence comforting. When I felt anxious, which I often did, I would talk aloud to Oscar and he seemed to listen. He never passed judgment or offered unwanted advice, he just listened. When I needed a break from the room, Oscar would stay with Mom while I went out to stretch my legs or grab a bite to eat. Sometimes he would even escort me down the hallway toward the unit doors.
“You know, Dr. Dosa, I had a lot of time to think, sitting there with Mom, and I wondered how I would feel when she finally passed. I had experienced so much guilt during the long duration of Mom’s illness that I had begun to think of guilt as my birthright, something passed down to me like a family heirloom. How had I not noticed my mother’s illness sooner? Did I do a good enough job dividing my time and attention between my children, my full-time job, and my needy mother? Did I do the right thing by putting her into the nursing home when I did?
“No matter how much I did there always seemed so much more to do, so much always undone.”
Cyndy paused for a minute, to laugh or cry, I wasn’t sure. I don’t think she was sure either.
“Now I realized that I was beginning to feel guilty for not feeling guilty. In truth, my mother’s death seemed a natural end to her suffering. But why do I feel okay with it? I asked myself. Searching for solace, I grabbed my mother’s rosary from the bedside table and began to recite the Lord’s Prayer aloud:
Our Father, who art in Heaven, hallowed be Thy name.
Thy Kingdom come thy Will be done, on earth as it is in heaven.
Give us this day our daily bread
And forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us.
And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil.
Amen.
“When I was finished, I sat back down again, suddenly feeling very tired. For the first time I had a strong desire to go home. I spontaneously murmured a heartfelt prayer: Please, Lord, just take her.
“I closed my eyes for a moment and was consumed with a flood of loving memories of my mother from years gone by. They were comforting memories, and I allowed myself to almost drift off to sleep, listening to the white noise of the oxygen machine in the background. Suddenly I bolted upright. The noise from the oxygen machine was all I could hear. I looked over at Mom and realized she had stopped snoring. For the first time in days, she appeared peaceful. I looked at my watch. It was 3:00 am.”
“THE NURSE CAME IN a couple of minutes later and listened to my mother with her stethoscope, confirming what I already knew.
“She gave me her condolences and then left to telephone whoever was on call. For a while I just sat quietly in the chair watching my mother. Inside, I knew that she was gone but I still watched her, searching for movement. I leaned over and kissed my mother on the forehead, telling her that her beloved late husband was waiting for her. Almost immediately, I felt this incredible sense of closure, like both my mother and I were finally free.”
Cyndy started to smile ever so slightly. “After some time passed, I got up and left the room to get a cup of coffee. I wasn’t quite ready to call my family yet; I needed to wake up. I remember it being eerily quiet on the unit. As I’m walking down the hall, I hear this pitter-patter of paws hitting the linoleum floors next to me. I looked down and saw Oscar walking next to me.”
I could picture Oscar walking alongside Cyndy, matching her gait, keeping pace.
“So, he was, like, your companion for those three long weeks?” I asked.
Cyndy nodded and I could see the awe dawning on her expression. I had seen this look a lot, of late, as people talked to me about Oscar.
“Doctor, I remember walking into the bathroom to splash some cold water over my face. When I left the bathroom, Oscar was right there waiting for me at the door. I stopped in the kitchen to pour myself a cup of coffee. Then I sat down at a table in the dining area to begin to plan out who I needed to call. Suddenly, there was a noise in the chair next to me. I looked over and there was Oscar sitting on his hindquarters, eyeing me. It was like he was checking up on me to make sure I would be okay.”
She smiled widely now. “You know, throughout this process, people would come and go. But Oscar would stay. He was really there for me. In fact, he was the last ‘person’ I saw that morning as I left the unit. He just sat there on the nurse’s desk staring at me as the doors closed behind me.”