I am not a bunny hugger at all. My dogs and cats know that if they just dare cough near me, they will be whisked off to the vet and put down in a heartbeat. Of course, I am joking. I would donate my own kidney to my majestic cat, Smith, if he needs it.
We have two cats on the premises and our original idea was that they will be there to serve the simple purpose of controlling rodents so we would not have to put out poisons that are damaging to the environment. At no stage did I realise the effect these felines would have on the people staying with us, and the effect they would have on me and the rest of the team.
Our cats, Tilly and Leah are very beautiful and despite the fact that I rescued them from imminent death, are not terribly nice to me (I clearly should not have expected gratitude from them!). They are also not the typical emotional support animals. They are not at all like your average happy Labrador who senses people are about to have a seizure, or a ridgeback that proudly guides his blind owner across a busy street. The only virtues I thought they had was to ignore me, strut around looking glamorous and roll their eyes when they do not get their favourite brand of cat food.
But then we had our very first post-surgery patient and suddenly, they made a bee-line for her. They always sat next to her replaced hip, but never tried to climb on top of her. When Obakeng was pregnant, they knew long before the rest of us and would continuously climb onto her lap. Once little Ethan was born, they ignored Obakeng as if they’ve never met her. My darling dad was with us for over 14 months and in that time, Tilly and Leah showed little interest in him, but in the end, when he got terrible bronchitis from which he never recovered, they were constantly around him.
During July 2020 when SA had its first serious wave pre-vaccine, we had 49 patients with COVID showing symptoms. Due to the large number of patients we had to look after, we temporarily housed them in our other lodge, Sunninghill Guest Lodge, where we have a sweet little cat, with a strange little face and odd tiny beard, that definitely excludes her from the ‘gorgeous cats’ list. Meenie was not allowed to have contact with any of the patients, as this could have spread the virus. What she did though was sit in front of the room of one of our guests continuously, guarding her and being a constant presence. We knew that this guest was a single lady, with few friends, no family and who also battled with mental health. She was petrified and lonely, showing signs of severe depression. After her stay with us she told me that Meenie’s silent companionship was what kept her sane and gave her the support other patients found in contact with their loved ones.
Once we also had a guest who had a heart attack. Before any of us, or the guest himself knew about it, Meenie jumped onto his bed and gently went to lie down on his chest. She would not move and guarded him until we had him safely admitted to hospital. He made a wonderful recovery.
I read a story of an old Italian man who had COVID. For months he was non-verbal and had spiking fevers and delirium. I have no idea whether it is true or not, but the story goes that his little white dog kept guard at the top of his bed. Eventually he got better and soon afterwards asked where the white angel was that kept whispering that everything was going to be all right. I remember my own dad was fighting for his life for six weeks during his awful bout of Delta. In that time, Meenie came in and out of his room. If she dared to leave his room for whatever reason, he quickly asked “Waar is my katjie?” She suddenly became his main focus and comforter. (Not sure how my mother and his wife of 60 years felt about that).
As you know, Dr Craig Howes, palliative care specialist extraordinaire who has a practice on site, used to head up Wits Hospice in Houghton. There they had two magnificent Bengal cats for over fifteen years. These cats are no longer magnificent; in fact they are rather scraggly, deaf, a bit blind and really nothing to feast your eyes on. We decided it is time for them to retire after being a comforting presence and sense of home at hospice and now they live with us. Dr Howes shares his space with the most marvelous counselling psychologist, Chant Malan. Between the three of us, we are trying to serve these cats in their end-of-life care as they served others. Chant and Craig both say that the presence of cats immediately makes people more comfortable in a space that can be very overwhelming. We all know the three stages of success don’t we?
Success -Wealth and fame
Incredible success – Power and significance
Self-fulfillment with extreme super mind-blowing success – Having a cat choose your lap to sit on
So once a cat has accepted you and curled up on your lap, conquering a difficult emotion or verbalising a trauma is often much less intimidating. We can look at the cat while stroking it rather than making eye contact, which is often more challenging than we understand Having this distraction, total acceptance and a calm presence, makes sharing trauma and shame easier, and it also makes hearing intimidating diagnoses more bearable.
Some time ago, a guest whom we served during her end-of-life journey requested that she could have her cat with her in her last days. The cat stayed close to her torso area the entire time Lesley was conscious (she had lung cancer and Izzy, the cat, never got on top of her chest, but just stayed close to her). I found it fascinating as her owner started to be less aware of her and started slipping away, that she moved further and further away physically. Once Lesley died, Izzy was still on the bed but nowhere near Lesley. I wonder if she sensed that Lesley was doing fine, that she was ready to go and no longer needed her?
A wonderful palliative sister we work with, Sheryl, always says that people pass away at stupid-o’clock, and that tends to be true. Almost no one dies during the day and it is usually in the early hours of the morning. If one of our guests dies, usually in these early hours, I always drive to the lodge and then, without fail, Tilly and Leah will meet me at my car and walk with me towards the room of the person that passed away. They will then hang out in front of the room until we stand in a guard of honour and the guest is taken away by the funeral home.
If you Google animals sensing death “Oscar the infamous cat” usually comes up first. He was rescued from an animal shelter as a kitten and made his way to Steere House, a dementia centre in Georgia in the US. Oscar was shy and timid but often would appear and start showing unusual affection to a resident, and shortly afterwards the resident would pass away. Dr Dosa who is a geriatrician at Rhode Island Hospital and assistant professor of medicine at Warren Alpert Medical School of Brown university says of Oscar: “Oscar has proven to us that, regardless of how he’s able to sense impending death, he has an interest in honouring these people at the end of their lives and providing them whatever comfort he can by simply being in their presence.” It is said that cats and other animals can detect by smell the chemical changes that occur in an animal or human body immediately before death, and they have been known to respond to the physical and emotional needs accordingly. Their EQ is therefore, in my wonderfully unreliable opinion, better than most humans I know.