Cats-Are-Purrsons-Too and Touched by an Animal

Eleanor's Story

"Mrr-rowa," demanded the 19-year old Tammy repeatedly as she leaped onto the table for an eye level confrontation. Her question was clearly communicated to me: "Where is our 'Mom'? Why don't you bring her home to us?"

"Meee-ow," trilled Chessie as he stretched the full length of his beautiful Maine Coon body against my leg, kneading gently at my waist with his front paw and tilting his head quizzically. "She would never stay away from us this long. Is she alright?"

Buddy, almost blind, was on the table too, rubbing his head against my chest. "I so miss feeling the safety of her warm lap. When is she coming home?"

I had come to Eleanor's home on December 29th, 1992, to feed and care for her ten loving cats, pet each one and encourage them to "hang in there". But how could I tell them that their special friend, who had rescued and cared for each of them, was going to be away for a long, long time, having suffered several strokes over the past few days? It was obvious that they missed her greatly.

"Meow, meow, meow," Mandy plaintively cried from Eleanor's bedroom. I brought a plate of food and some fresh water to the delicate senior cat since she seemed determined to stay in that room until her friend returned. Perhaps she felt closer to her there.

I was sitting in the bedroom chair, with Rocky and Jenny padding restlessly on my lap, Li'l Boy on top of the chair back, and Silver and Chrissy eyeing a place to land if they leapt, when the telephone rang. The caller was a person from the hospital. They suggested I might want to return to Eleanor who, within the last hour, had suffered a massive stroke. They were unable to get any response from her now.

With a sad heart I locked her house and hurried to the car. I was well aware of the ten, small furry faces watching me as I left. On my car's front seat was a carrier containing two little kittens "fresh from the vet". These kittens were going to my house because a very poor family could not afford to feed them and had asked me to "find them a good home". There was no time to detour to my house; the kittens had to accompany me to the hospital.

The scene at Eleanor's bedside was ominous. The Doctor, the nurse, the aide, and I were begging her to respond in some way. "Please blink, squeeze my hand, move your foot..." but there was nothing. I had brought the carrier with me and now one of the small kittens mewed. I took it out - a tiny handful - and held it up to Eleanor's face. "Can you see this; can you hear this," I asked. Still nothing. I placed the soft kitten under her left hand - and somehow life strengthened life. Eleanor's fingers moved in a petting motion over the kitten, and her mouth widened into a smile. Eleanor could not see, hear, or speak, but she could be drawn back to us through the gentle touch of a kitten. The kitten remained remarkably content under Eleanor's slowly stroking hand for several wonderful minutes.

On Eleanor's medical chart the doctor noted, "Pet therapy is important to the patient - allow feline visitors anytime".

Eleanor's recovery was a long one, but frequent visits by her cats made the recovery much better than it might have been.

That was many years ago. Eleanor has since passed on, but her spirit remains here with us in the faces of the many kitties who touched her life.