The cat at the nursing home had a singular affection for just one man. And it was only after that man passed away that we finally grasped the reason.
Whiskers had been a fixture at the nursing home for as long as anyone could remember. The staff insisted he simply showed up one day, acting as though he belonged there. He was choosy about people and tolerated most of us only grudgingly. But with Mr. Delano, it was a completely different story.
Every morning, Whiskers would clamber onto Mr. Delano’s lap and curl up as the elderly man stroked his fur with his trembling hands. They had a routine – gentle caresses, soft whispers, and moments of silent understanding. No one could fathom why, but they were inseparable.
Then, one evening, Mr. Delano passed away in his sleep.
The next morning, we expected Whiskers to be by the window, waiting for him. Instead, we found him curled up on Mr. Delano’s empty bed, his paws tucked beneath his chin and his eyes half – closed. He didn’t move all day.
That night, as we were packing up Mr. Delano’s meager belongings, one of the nurses let out a startled gasp.
She discovered an old photograph tucked inside his drawer.
It depicted a younger Mr. Delano, smiling as he held a small black – and – white kitten in his arms.
On the back, in faded ink, were just four words:
“My boy, always waiting.”
I looked at Whiskers, still curled on the bed, and my breath caught in my throat.
Could it really be…?
And then, without making a sound, Whiskers stood up, stretched, and walked out of the room.
For several days, Whiskers was not his usual self. He barely ate, didn’t respond when people called his name, and couldn’t stay in one place for long. The sparkle in his green eyes had dimmed, as if he was adrift without his person.
