It takes a special type to do what I do. Mama always told me I had the caring ways about me. I can't bear to see anything suffer. When our old dog, Doogle, got hit and lay dying, I petted his head and talked about the good times to come He flopped that big old tail of his, sighed and went to meet his Maker. Only after I was sure he was gone did I cry. Up to that point, it seemed more important that he be made as comfortable as I could make him without letting it seem as if I knew it was the end.
I started sitting with folks after that. Didn't mean to make a career out of it, but after my Frankie didn't come back from the war, it helped fill my hours. A body can only mourn for so long and then you need to decide whether or not life is worth living. Some think not and that's their right. Others, like me, we just keep loving and hoping.
I'd been sitting with Mr. Franklin, just talking and making sure he knew he wasn't alone. His people, they had sort of given up on him. He was so emaciated that I guess they couldn't bear to look at him anymore and they didn't seem to realize it wasn't about them; it was about making his transition less worrying. His time was coming soon, I could feel it.
Anyhow, I'd been holding his hand and talking nonsense about the birds when I realized I was being watched from across the room. There was this old fella, well, perhaps he wasn't all that old, but he looked old, see how I wander? Papa used to say that only old and the bed bound would put up with me. I know in the end, he seemed pretty happy to have me there, but there I go again.
Where was I? Oh, this old fella. He was watching me from his own bedside vigil.
"Can I help you?" I wasn't afraid to talk to strangers. Strangers are just folks you haven't met yet.
"Hello. I couldn't help but notice you."
"Why?" I kept my voice soft and even. I didn't want to bother Mr. Franklin or the young man who the old fella was sitting with.
"You're very kind to stay with people. I've asked about you on the floor and they have told me how you bring comfort to people who need it."
I suddenly felt brave and walked past him to look at the young man he'd been sitting with. I sighed with pleasure because I knew this one wasn't finishing his journey yet. I glanced back at Mr. Franklin and knew I needed to get back to him.
"They tell me you bring great comfort to everyone here."
I often sat with other folks when I thought they needed some company. We would talk about nothing and everything.
"I'd like to offer you a job."
"I have little use for money." That was the truth, in exchange for my time, the folks here set up a little room for me. My food and necessaries were taken care of – all they asked was that I stay out of the way when there was an emergency.
Mr. Kelly, that was his name, you see, was very persuasive and eventually I did agree to go to work for him. UNCLE wasn't exactly what I had envisioned and my being there, it got off to a rocky start. Then I was transferred to their hospital facility and after a bit, I settled into a routine and got comfortable. You see, they have a place that's out of town and it's there where the long-term care residents - isn't that a funny word to call sick folks? – stay. I ended up taking a room there and doing what I could to make all those poor young men and women feel as good as I could.
Every morning I would make my rounds. People came and went pretty fast, especially the Section Two agents. They were mostly young men, but there were some women there too. Mr. Waverly would come through once a week and talk with them all and tell them what a good job they did and how the world needed and thanked them for their services. It made me proud when he stopped and thanked me as well.
That's where I met Mr. Solo. Oh, but I loved him at first sight, although the feeling wasn't exactly mutual. He was polite and would even occasionally bring me small gifts, but I could tell I'd never win his heart. All the women seemed to love him and some even blushed when he spoke to them. I never did, I don't blush, but he certainly did things to your heart.
His partner was there and every so often, Mr. Solo would visit. He'd pulled up a chair and sit and talk. His partner didn't say much, but I could tell how excited he was to have Mr. Solo close. He was in something called a coma. Sometimes, when he didn't think anyone was looking, Mr. Solo would take a limp hand in his and speak of a better future together when all was well again.
When Mr. Solo wasn't there, I would do the same, just sitting close, talking aimlessly about this or that. I didn't know his name, although I tried to read it off the chart. My reading skills aren't very good and it's hard to figure out cursive. Mr. Solo called him Partner, so that's what I called him, too.
"Good morning, Partner. How are you?" I'd say every morning, hoping this would be the morning the blond head would turn towards me and smile. I was starting to get a funny feeling in my bones, a bad feeling, that Mr. Solo's partner was not going to be here much longer.
He was hooked up to all these machines that made sure he kept breathing and his heart kept going. When he strayed from the norm, an alarm would go off. It was the machine's way of letting someone know Partner needed some help. The first time one of those alarms went off around me, I about jumped out of my skin. I had to retire and clean up a bit in order to regain my composure.
After a bit, I started ignoring the alarms and just stepped aside to let the medical folks do what they needed to do. Then I would take my place by his side again. I am embarrassed to say that I was sort of ignoring the other patients, but I felt like Partner needed me. The nursing staff, they tried to get me to leave, but I knew I needed to stay. I even started falling asleep at his side.
That's when one of the nurses seemed to remember my gift and I heard her whisper. "Call Napoleon." That's Mr. Solo's other name. "Tell him to get here now."
But he was too late. That night, Partner seemed to take a deep breath and drifted away. Right at the end, I think he tried to say Mr. Solo's name, but I couldn't be sure. All the alarms were going off and I couldn't really hear.
I went back to my room and mourned a little. I liked Partner and I would miss him.
The next morning, I was with a nice young man - he was from Ireland and the stories he told - when Mr. Solo arrived. He had a young man, closer to his own age, with him. It was good because I could tell that Mr. Solo was really broken up. He was enough of a man to not make light of his friend's passing and try to lie away the tears. I went to see him to tell him how sorry I was.
"I can't believe he's gone, Illya," Mr. Solo said to the young man. "Tell me he didn't die alone. That was the one thing he feared more than anything."
"He didn't, Napoleon. Sarah was with him."
Mr. Solo scooped me into his arms and thanked me over and over. I heard his friend clear his throat.
"Introductions, Napoleon?" I liked his voice – it was sort of sing-songy.
"Oh, I'm sorry. Illya, this is Sarah. Sarah, this is Illya. She is the one I was telling you about."
"Thank you for taking care of everyone."
Okay, I blushed a little then, but he had incredible blue eyes. They were a lot like my Frankie's eyes, deep with passion, light with mischief, and with many stories to tell.
I thanked him and again told Mr. Solo how sorry I was. I could tell Mr. Solo really missed Partner, but that Illya would be there to help him.
I would see them again, on and off, when they visited their friends or even each other when they came through my doors.
As for me, one day moves quietly into the next and that's the way I prefer it. After all, I'm a little cat with a very large heart. My mama told me so.