The Cat and the Final Crossing

Most mornings, I wake with 20 to 40 pounds of domestic housecat on my bed with me.

Here is the math on that:

1.      Mitch cats = 20 lbs. per cat.

2.      Therefore, 1 cat on bed = 20 lbs.

3.      2 cats on bed (2 cats x 20 lbs.) = 40 lbs. of cat.

I am comforted by the presence of a cat or two when I wake in the morning.  I am not alone in the universe.  And the cats are hungry.

Not everyone likes cats.  I appreciate that view.  You will not relish a cat if, for example, you like to think you are the boss.  If you don’t enjoy hair clinging to everything, or don’t take readily to being ambushed in the hallway, you likely will not accept living with cats.

And then we have Oscar.

Oscar is a “death” cat.  The claim is that Oscar has predicted the deaths of some 50 patients at a Rhode Island nursing home.  Oscar—normally a very standoffish sort—will for some reason seek out and cuddle on the bed with nursing home patients in their last hours.  Generally, he utterly ignores the patients and nursing home staff, but once Oscar senses that a patient is near death he will go to their room and perform his vigil.  “It’s not like he dawdles.  He’ll slip out for two minutes, grab some kibble and then he’s back at the patient’s side,” wrote Dr. David Dosa, a geriatrician at the facility and professor at Brown University.  Dr. Dosa wrote an article about Oscar in the New England Journal of Medicine.  Eventually, he produced a book titled, Making rounds with Oscar: the extraordinary gift of an ordinary cat.

Steere House Nursing and Rehabilitation Center in Providence adopted Oscar when he was a kitten.  The home has several other cats, which are enjoyed by patients, staff, and visitors alike.  Early on, however, Oscar revealed his aloofness for all those accept the patients near death.   Eventually, the staff began to trust in the cat’s judgment.  Once, thinking that a patient was at the end of hours, the nurses placed Oscar on the bed with the patient in question.  The cat immediately fled the room and sought out another patient to sleep with.  Later that night, the patient Oscar slept with crossed over.  If the staff leaves the door of a room with a dying patient closed, Oscar will scratch at the door until he is allowed to enter the room and jump up on the patient’s bed.

How does Oscar sense the approach of death?  A scent?  A change in temperature?  Something in the activity of staff and family?  No one is quite sure.  While you might think people would be fearful of Oscar, many family members, just the same, take comfort in knowing that Oscar is there to be with their loved ones when the final hours arrive.

I have my regular cats.  I wake each morning with 20 to 40 pounds of cat on my bed with me.  They are perpetually hungry and have probably shredded a houseplant during the night.

--Mitchell Hegman