A Day in the Life of Oscar the Catdi
David M. Dosa
Oscar the Cat awakens from his nap, opening a single eye to
survey his kingdom. He sits up and considers
his next move. In the distance, a resident approaches. It is Mrs. P., who has
been living on the dementia unit's third floor for 3 years now.
She has long forgotten her family, even though they visit her
almost daily. She glides toward
Oscar, pushing her walker and muttering to herself with complete
disregard for her surroundings. Perturbed, Oscar watches her
carefully and, as she walks by, lets out a gentle hiss, a rattlesnake-like
warning that says "leave me alone." She passes him without a
glance and continues down the hallway. Oscar is relieved. It
is not yet Mrs. P.'s time, and he wants nothing to do with her.
Oscar jumps down off the desk, relieved to be once more alone
and in control of his domain.Oscar decides to
head down the west wing first, along the way sidestepping Mr.
S., who is slumped over on a couch in the hallway. With lips
slightly pursed, he snores peacefully — perhaps blissfully
unaware of where he is now living. Oscar continues down the
hallway until he reaches its end and Room 310. The door is closed,
so Oscar sits and waits. He has important business here.
Making his way back up the hallway, Oscar arrives at Room 313.
The door is open, and he proceeds inside. Mrs. K. is resting
peacefully in her bed, her breathing steady but shallow. She
is surrounded by photographs of her grandchildren and one from
her wedding day. Despite these keepsakes, she is alone. Oscar
jumps onto her bed and again sniffs the air. He pauses to consider
the situation, and then turns around twice before curling up
beside Mrs. K.
One hour passes. Oscar waits. A nurse walks into the room to
check on her patient. She pauses to note Oscar's presence. Concerned,
she hurriedly leaves the room and returns to her desk. She grabs
Mrs. K.'s chart off the medical-records rack and begins to make
phone calls.
Within a half hour the family starts to arrive. Chairs are brought
into the room, where the relatives begin their vigil. The priest
is called to deliver last rites. And still, Oscar has not budged,
instead purring and gently nuzzling Mrs. K. A young grandson
asks his mother, "What is the cat doing here?" The mother, fighting
back tears, tells him, "He is here to help Grandma get to heaven."
Thirty minutes later, Mrs. K. takes her last earthly breath.
With this, Oscar sits up, looks around, then departs the room
so quietly that the grieving family barely notices.
NEJM Volume 357:328-329 - July 26, 2007 Number 4
