How’s the Cat Therapy for a Broken Brain and Heart

“How’s the cat?'’ my brother would ask every time being the only few words he could speak.

Each time I’d answer with a different scenario about his cat.

“Well, today, he was helping me clean up in the garden chasing leaves like butterflies, such silky fur that gleams like a mink in the sunlight.”

"He’s an outside cat,” he’d always say, sensing a smile.

Next time we talked he would ask again,

“How’s the cat?”

This time I would say something new like, “Well, some how he got a small pitch ball on his belly and I had to cut it off carefully. Must be climbing on a pine tree someplace. One of these days he won’t be coming back.”

“He’s an outside cat,” he’d always answer.

My brother’s articulation was limited because of a monster called Multiple Sclerosis, a devastating disease that slowly affected the brain, body and the mind over the years; disabling basic walking and talking, increasing brain fog and forfeiting routine activities with fatigue, anxiety, frustration, and anger. It stripped away cognition, cell by cell, to face a less efficient, less decisive future of limited plans and anticipation of life’s events.

But. amazingly, his cat never left his brain. You might say this was like therapy to stay connected to the real world, to network with companionship and help reduce loneliness or anxiety.

It made you wonder about this different dimension to the meaning and value of pets. It was through his cat’s experiences that brought validity to smile and hope as communication faltered. In many ways, his life was bonded to an animal’s existence that could be contemplated beyond the physical to the symbolic even spiritual levels. Even the cat’s trauma about once being caged without freedom was well expressed. Even now his memories would suffice to add character to our lives.

The cat was suitably called Percy because he loved to purr.

He entered Tom’s life as a wide-eyed, big-eared kitten growing into a large handsome tabby cat who favored the comfortable lap as well as the adventures in outside landscapes.

A car door accident earlier cost Percy his tail. That one summer I arrived loaded with buckets and cleaning supplies to prepare Tom’s house for a sale listing. The right-side door was open when Percy passed by waving his long swishing tail; I slammed it shut thinking it was clear, but the end got caught. Howling loudly, he was strong enough to pull it out of the door that also dislocated the small bones in his tail which caused it to drop off within 3 days, exposing the vertebrae. In order to be saved, he had an operation to sew over his tail flap to prevent infection turning his looks into a miniature bobcat.

We shared ownership when I adopted Percy when Tom moved to residential care. My home welcomed this big bundle of fur with legs, brindle brown, tawny underbelly, white chin and throat, amber eyes and sprays of white whiskers. Generally, he was quiet and content, with unrequited needs for affection by purring his satisfaction with two tones, lighter or deeper. Sometimes when he came to snuggle in bed upon waking up as I stroked his head with my ear to his chest, he’d respond with a muted vibration deeper in his throat.

He insisted on maintaining a regular time for grooming with a special two-sided brush; first, to stand his fur up and then smooth it down. His daily routine included food, water and various places to sleep as well as the freedom to wander outside at will at the edge of the forest. the farmyard or visit with other cat friends. Scratching the main door would let him out or in. Of course, there were some consternations that he might run into trouble outside, but he would not tolerate to stay locked safely in the house loudly meowing protests and endlessly scratching the door while looking straight at my face about my lack of cooperation.

I would visit Tom often at the institution facing the reality together that he was a prisoner of a debilitating brain where there was no freedom to go outside or visit with friends. Who had a kind word for him? Why did he talk so much about moving back home? When was the last time he was told he was appreciated, or be proud at being self-sufficient, or feel a sense of belonging or peace of achievement? Why smile when there was only sadness or love when your spirit was broken?

I would return home and often cry holding Percy.

The next day Tom would call,

“How’s the cat?”

Each time was a different answer, “Well, this morning he got soaked in the rain from top to bottom but he sure likes to be rubbed and dried off with his towel. Stands there like a soaked scarecrow until I come but he had no reason to go outside in the rain."

“He’s an outside cat,” was the constant reply, perhaps with a smile.

My focus was Percy to share his instinctive enjoyment of life to infiltrate mutual visions for Tom, if that was even possible … look at him jump from ledge to ledge, scratch a post, climb to the top of the shed’s roof for a better vantage. There was so much vitality to share, boundless mobility, his animal’s flexibility and purrs of contentment as he rolled back and forth. exhibiting his soft belly to be scratched, sitting like Buddha to groom himself, kneading the pillow and stretching out his paw for me to hold, curling his sharp claws into my skin, able to hurt but not doing so.

There was so much to share to stimulate images in the brain each time Tom called,

“How’s the cat?”

Each answer had to be different, “Guess what, Percy just delivered a dead mouse to my back porch and he’s playing football with it. You know Percy was well fed and didn’t hunt because he wasn’t hungry; it was a primeval instinct from the ancestry of wild cats."

“Well, he’s an outside cat,” was the always answer.

My dear Percy, I sometimes wondered how he would feel if he couldn’t make any movements like Tom. Would he look out the window to watch the activities in the backyard with the same quick sensations or wave of his little stub of a tail? Would he sleep so contently with a mild snore?

How does one measure a lack of normal activities, fractured self-worth, loss of confidence or will-power or authentic self? How does someone survive without even some brief stimuli of life?

Interestingly, on one occasion, Percy had a chance to show what a cage imprisonment meant to him in a way Tom couldn’t express but may have felt.

He was forced into a pet day-care situation for 5 days to accommodate a personal trip to visit family. Food, water, bedding, toys were provided. When he was picked up, the manager said he was a good cat who stayed on the highest ledge possible beside a window only to come down to eat and use the litter box. But the confinement left him deeply stressed with panting and yowling like never heard before, loud cries of mental pain as bad as any physical trauma. This anxiety attack lasted nearly two days and nights, crying loudly if he couldn’t see me for assurance. How unbelievably his behavior became so disruptive and noisier than before trying to return to normalcy to maintain a balance of freedom.

However, in the invariable scope of life’s chances, it was inevitable that one day Percy would not come home from his wanderings outside. Late last year in September he was last seen mid-morning by the cedar tree in the yard but by early dusk he had not returned with his usual common sense to be home before too much darkness set in. Heartbroken, every day, a loud calling vigil for his return rang into the neighborhood if anyone had seen his unique profile, listening to everybody’s speculation as to what may have happened to him. But there was always a flicker of hope he’d come back; even now, a tiny miraculous wisp of perhaps he would appear in more than just memories.

Unexplainably, after Percy’s disappearance, Tom stopped asking, “How’s the cat?” Perhaps it was progressive memory loss, or perhaps he could sense hesitant sorrow in my voice by avoiding the subject. There was no way of predicting his reaction if the answer was, “Well, Percy was missing…don’t know what he’s doing.” Would there be depression, a loss of will to continue because sparks of reality were missing? No one will ever know.

Tom still lives with full-bed confinement now, his outside world seldom mentioned.

For the fortune of time that mattered, Percy was a sentient being with few selective human attributes, but, within his existence, his life brought so many meaningful sensations that transformed into gifts of spirit or soul. He gave normalcy and insights to a future that looked out on endless dark nights with no reprieve. He helped a man who could only silently howl inside at the dispossession and cruelty of his disease with human frustration and chaos, but he always asked to share a cat’s world perhaps innately sensing movement and belonging. He was the best therapist life could offer

My dear Percy, how much do I miss your furry chubby face, your direct stares and tickling whiskers and wagging little tail. How much I miss your purring and joyful antics inside and outside. I thought often, how much I wanted to say something important as if you could understand our gratitude and the simple truth of open freedom.

“How’s the cat?” I ask myself. Who will fix my broken heart like you helped fix a broken brain?

There is no common answer, just the simple solace to live with your memories and pictures and write a story to share the value of respect and love for all pets. Their world signifies freedom to be their best without cages.

Annemarie Berukoff