THE BRIARCLIFF CAT

 A loyal viewer asked me to post my story about the cat who predicted death. So, here it is and I can only hope it uploads properly.

Last edited:  Aug 8, 2010

THE BRIARCLIFF CAT

by

Ralph Henry

Shelley Harvey paid for the three dozen, forbidden glazed donuts with a debit card, hoisted her purchase, and walked to her Mustang convertible at the curb.  When she leaned to place the boxes on the back seat, every male eye within half a block watched as her white skirt crept dangerously high.

When she turned into her usual weekday destination twenty minutes later, the wrought iron arch over the drive read:  Briarcliff Assisted Living Facility.  Johnny Cash blared from the car's sound system under a warm early September sky: her long blond hair swirling around her head.  And in her opinion, this near-perfect day was only enhanced by the fact that it was Friday.

Briarcliff's main building was an impressive four-story antebellum-style building with fourteen gleaming white columns defining a massive porch on which perched a couple of dozen equally gleaming white never-used rocking chairs that were mere carefully positioned static items of adornment.  Likewise, nonfunctional black storm shutters framed each of the dozens of windows.  The tree-lined drive from the gate to the main building stretched for a hundred yards, the flanking grounds well manicured. 

A vane crested large cupola projected skyward some thirty feet in the center of the dark gray slate roof.  Hidden behind the grates on the cupola's four sides were four powerful speakers that chimed the hours and half hours from six in the morning, waking time, until nine at night, in deference to early retirers. 

Halfway up the drive, a smaller road led off to the right to a parking lot that was hidden from view from the main building by a copse of pine trees.  Five minutes before 8 am, Shelley pulled the Mustang into her assigned space identified by a sign with large letters which read, Shelley Harvey, RN; and in a smaller font:  Shift Supervisor, Quad Rose.

Each of Briarcliff's four floors was referred to as a quad since the age-appropriate focus groups hired by the marketing department deemed that term least offensive.  These same people suggested that flowers should be used to designate one quad from the other, hence, Quad Rose, Lilac, Tulip, and Petunia.

Each quad housed clients with varying levels of dependency.  Quad Petunia housed the ancient ones who were essentially in hospice mode.  They required constant care, and since they were physically unable to attend any group function, Quad Petunia was on the fourth floor.

Quad Tulip, on the third floor, was reserved for Alzheimer's and other patients who could not be trusted to have a free run of the grounds and had to be escorted on walks.  These clients wore purple robes alerting everyone if they were seen unattended.

Quad Lilac, on the second floor, housed mostly, but not entirely, clients with mobility issues such as wheelchair and walker users.  Sometimes there were too many of these and the overflow from Quad Lilac was housed in Quad Rose and vice versa.

Quad Rose housed the least restricted clients.  These people were in general good health and mentally sharp.  The biggest problem for the staff of Quad Rose was alleviating the clients' boredom.  Boredom is a powerful indication that the client is unhappy, and unhappiness can adversely affect health.

Thus the donuts. 

Within seconds of parking her car, a lime green golf cart stopped behind Shelley's Mustang.

"Good morning, Shelley," greeted Anthony (Tony) English, a 25-year-old black man who looked like he worked out regularly.

The fact is that Tony worked out daily by sneaking into Briarcliff's workout room as often as possible.

"Mornin', Tony," Shelley said as she plopped on the seat beside Tony, the boxes of donuts in her lap.

"You know he told you not to do that no more," Tony said staring at the donuts.

She held a finger to her lips.  "Ssssh.  What Mr. Bigshot MBA Gordon Wingard don't know won't hurt him."  She glanced at him.  "Just to be on the safe side, would you take me around back?"

As they drove Tony said, "The graveyard shift supervisor knocked off early.  She said she had a meeting at her son's school."

"Is there anything I need to know about?"

"Same old, same old.  Dom told a dirty joke and a couple of people ratted him out.  Hilda Ligon misplaced her glasses and poured coffee on her cereal.  Sherman was asked how he wanted his eggs and he's so deaf he thought they said You have to beg and he got all mad and stormed off.  It took me and Magnolia fifteen minutes to get him to come back to breakfast."  

"I think she's sweet on him," Shelley said.

"She's one nice lady."

"Anything else?"

"I reminded Kent Brownstein to zip his fly and he said he couldn't tolerate much more animadversion."

"What does that mean?"

"I had to look it up," said Tony.  "It means harsh criticism."

"Anything serious?"

"Well," Tony inhaled.  "Barbara Dupree called me boy again."

"Tony, she's only been here a year and it took us that long to break her of using the term Nigrah.  She's from the old school.  Let's cut her just a little more slack.  She'll come around, they always do.  Remember when Hilda first came here?"  She did not wait for a reply.  "She was scared of her own shadow and now she's one of us."

"But you will have a talk with Barbara?"

"I will have a talk with Barbara."

When the cart followed the brick walk around the corner of the building, the garden came into view.  This time of year the grounds were ablaze with color.  

Dominating the landscape was an ornate thirty-foot wide arbor that was informally regarded as a clubhouse where a unique group of clients met regularly.  Roses curled up and through the lattice siding, which made it an ideal setting for clandestine meetings.  

Between the garden and the building, a roofless concrete slab edged with a thick concrete railing stretched from one corner of the structure to the other.  This area was misnomered a veranda, since, by definition, a veranda had a roof.  The first floor abutting the veranda had a continuous array of double-sized French windows and doors, allowing light to flood the common area, which was appropriately called the Sun Room.  

The Sun Room was an area shared by each Quad, some clients requiring the aid of geriatric chairs with IV stands in tow.  Although each floor had a common area replete with television and books, the Sun Room was where the action was and most clients made every effort to visit daily.

Tony stopped the golf cart next to the rear ramp which led to the veranda and said, "You want me to sneak them donuts in the service entrance for you?"

"No, I got caught with them in the Sun Room last time, remember.  Why don't you take them to Rose Arbor.  I'll get the troops out there soon."

"Can I have one?" Tony asked, even though he knew the answer.

"Take three.  Share them with the bros in the hood," she jived.

The first of eight chimes rang from the cupola.

"You better hurry or you is going to be late," he jived right back.

"Thanks, Tony."

With that said, Shelley jumped from the cart, jogged to the door, and burst into the spacious fifteen-foot-high, tastefully decorated Sun Room.  Her good mood soured when she saw Conrad Wingard, the executive director, standing beside the baby grand piano looking at his watch.  She plastered a plastic smile on her face.

Conrad earned his master's degree in business from Rice University and since his arrival six months prior, he had been busy transforming Briarcliff into his idealized corporate model.  New rules and regulations were posted almost daily, creating working conditions so dismal that half of the most experienced staff had moved on to less hostile environs.

The man dressed in suits that cost more than most of the staff made in a month, but not even the most expensive wardrobe could elevate his diminutive 5'3" stature.  No one had ever seen the man smile and credited it to a severe case of Napoleon complex.

"Cutting it a little close today aren't we, Nurse Harvey?" Conrad said in a squeaky little voice that had a nails on a blackboard effect on most people.

"Morning, Shelley," came a chorus of voices from all sides of the room.

"Good morning, guys.  How's my troops today?" she beamed at them.

"Would you come with me, please, Nurse Harvey?" demanded Conrad, who spun and walked to the bulletin board beside the elevator.

When Shelley joined him, he jabbed a manicured finger against a memo tacked to the cork.

"Have you read this, Nurse Harvey?"

"Yes, sir, but..."

"Nurse Harvey," he interrupted a decibel too loudly.  "This clearly states that clients are to call all staff members with appropriate nomenclature.  You are a nurse, are you not?"  He did not wait for her to respond.  "You will be referred to as Nurse Harvey.  Just plain Nurse is allowable, but not recommended.  The clients are to be referred to as Mr., Mrs., and in the rare case for such an age group as this, Miss, followed by their last name.  Do you understand me, Nurse Harvey?"

Her smile became more and more difficult to maintain, as she said, "I will try to remember, Executive Director Wingard."

His eyes flashed as he stabbed the memo again.  "It says right here on line sixteen that all administrative staff will be referred to by Mr. or Mrs."

"What about the unmarried female administrators?" she asked as if she were confused.

"We don't have any unmarried female administrators!" he said loud enough to draw the attention of most of the dozens of people in the room.

Dom Andolini waddled over to the elevator, looking very much as if imitating a penguin, the result of a hip replacement gone awry.  He was a large, in a football player sort of way, a retired salesman who had made some very wise investments early in his career.

Dom pushed the up button, then glared down at Conrad.  "Why don't yuz go fuck yourself, yuz little wormy piss ant," the old New Yorker said in a belligerent Bronx accent.

The doors to the elevator opened.

Conrad Wingard began to shake with rage, but unable the think of an appropriate response, turned and stormed into the elevator and jabbed the up button at least twelve times, all the while biting his lower lip.

"You are pushing him pretty hard," Shelley said to Dom after the doors had closed.

"Fuck that bastard.  He can't fire me."  Dom laughed a contagious belly laugh, something he did often.

"He can fire me."

He lowered his head and whispered.  "You are the best we've ever had around here, you know that."

Shelley slipped both of her arms around the big man's still relatively strong biceps and turned and walked with him toward the rest of her charges.

"We can't push him too hard, too fast.  He could screw up a lot of the good stuff we have around here."

"You want I should push him off the fucking roof?  I will you know."

She ignored him.  "If he fires me, I can't promise what kind of person they will bring in here to replace me," she said.

"You mean like that bitch up on Lilac?  Good Lord, I would kill myself."  Dom leaned in close to her.  "I heard that she beats them at night, but she does it on their heads so the bruises won't show when they get visitors, and the bald ones she ties down and gives high colonics just for the hell of it."

"Maybe I ought to try that."  She tapped him on his bald head.

"How 'bout that water sport thing.  I might like that," he laughed.

"Don't push it, big boy."

They were laughing together when they stepped into the sunshine.  

Shelley looked around the group of twenty or so people.  These people, as different as they were, had two things in common.  First, they were all rather wealthy, as evidenced by the staggering costs of Briarcliff.  Most, like Dom, had earned their money, but some had just been lucky.  Sherman Washington had won a small fortune in the lottery.  Hilda Ligon's husband, an Aetna agent, had, without her knowing it, taken out a huge insurance policy on his life.  And there were some who were just lucky or unlucky enough to have prosperous extended family who would rather spend the money for the care of an aunt or grandfather than to care for them personally.

Secondly, all these people had little or no remaining family, at least a family that cared.  Visitors did not darken the door of Briarcliff often.

Shelley looked around.  "Where's Hilda?"

"What?" yelled Sherman Washington, the 82-year-old nearly deaf retired artillery sergeant lottery winner.

Shelley turned to him so that the man's good ear was toward her, then spoke slowly so that he could read her lips, something that he was rather good at when he took the time.  

"Where's Hilda?" she repeated.

Sherman shrugged and continued his stretches.

"My trepidation is eased by a presentiment that she will debouch herself into this matutinal splendor in due course," said Kent Brownstein, the retired newspaper editor, and self-declared master wordsmith, who nodded to the French windows, where Hilda searched each window section for a door knob.

Kent had used his well-honed linguistic skills to make a fortune publishing crossword puzzle books later in life.

Shelley tapped on the glass and when Hilda looked up through her coke bottle lens, Shelley pointed to the door ten feet to the woman's left.

Before Hilda could begin her search for the exit, Dom Andolini hurried to her side and led her through the door.

"That Dom Andolini is one sweet Italian," said Magnolia Crawford, an 86-year-old black woman who was by far the heaviest person at Briarcliff.

Magnolia's husband had been a prize fighter, who had died before he had the opportunity to squander his impressive winnings.

Shelley put her arm around Magnolia's shoulder.  "You know, you may be the only person in the whole world to use the words Dom Andolini and sweet in the same sentence."

Barbara Dupree, a short white woman in her early 80's walked up to Shelley and Magnolia.  The woman cooled herself with the aid of a small ivory fan held by a white-gloved hand.  

"Why, good mornin', Shelley.  Good mornin', Magnolia," Barbara oozed with an old-fashioned southern blue blood accent that would have put Scarlet O'Hara to shame.  "I do so hope the mornin' finds ya'll well."  

With that said the woman resumed her morning greetings, which she would continue until each client and member of the staff had been contacted.  She was by far the politest person any of them had ever met.

Shelley and Magnolia nodded and smiled at Barbara, then Shelley said, "Maggie, would you be a dear and let me have a private moment with Barbara?"

"Why yes'em, Miss Shelley.  Me and the other black folk will be out in our quarters eatin' watermelon."

"Magnolia, is that necessary?"

Magnolia leaned to Shelley's ear.  "Did Tony tell you what she done?"

Shelley nodded once.  Magnolia went to have a word with Sherman.

Shelley caught up with Barbara.

"Barbara, may I ask you something?"

"Of course, my dear, of course."  She pronounced the word course with three syllables.

"Well, back in Savannah, was it customary to insult people in front of their friends?"

"Of course not, child.  We would never dream of such a thing.  My husband was a judge for heaven's sake."  Her fan sped up.

"What if I told you that calling me a child was an insult?"

"Oh, my dear, I am so sorry.  It's just that I am so old and you are..."

"Barbara."  Shelley waited for the woman to catch her breath.  "I am not insulted by the word child, but what if I were and you made a mistake and said it anyway.  How would you make it all better?"

" I would apologize, of course!  Southerners are raised never to insult others."

"What if, say, Tony felt that the use of the word boy was an insult?"

"Why in the world would he think a thing like that?  He is a boy.  What does he want me to call him, a girl?"

"How about just plain Tony?"

"Oh for heaven's sake," Barbara huffed.

"Barbara, I love all you guys.  I want to keep everyone happy.  Now what you said to Tony has made him unhappy.  I'm here to ask your advice on how I can make it better because Tony's unhappiness has left me unhappy."

Her ivory fan was stilled as Barbara pondered her options.  "I guess, I could...apologize."

"I would appreciate that very much."

Shelley hugged the woman.

Florence Federman stepped from the door on the far end of the veranda a hundred feet away, then stood on her tiptoes to search for Shelley.  

Along with Tony and Shelley, the young nurse completed the entire three-member day shift staff for Quad Rose.  The facility was crawling with cooks, gardeners, EMT staff, doctors, servers, maids, custodians, etc, but it was the day shift's job to interact with the clients in and around the Sun Room.

There were three shifts that ran the normal hours of the day, night, and graveyard, and each shift was responsible but for one meal.  The day shift came in after the graveyard had supervised breakfast.  The day shift fed them lunch.  The night shift took over right before supper.

 Within a minute, Florence walked to Shelley, then waited at a discrete distance for her to conclude her conversation with Magnolia.

When Magnolia walked away, Shelley turned to her assistant and greeted, "Hey, girl."

"Hey, lady.  You going to take them for their walk or do you want me to do it?"

"I'll take them.  You stay with the ones who don't want to come.  I've stashed some donuts out on the arbor.  I'll save you a couple if I can."

"Don't let the man catch you, girl friend.  You know what he says about that strict dietary plan of his."

"Just between you and me, the little wormy piss ant can go fuck himself."

"You stole my line," said Dom Andolini, who roared with laughter as he waddled down the side of the veranda for another lap.

Both women laughed, then walked to the ramp, which led to the lawn, where Shelley turned to address the assembled.

"Could I have your attention, please?" she called.  "It's time for our morning walk.  The last one to the Rose Arbor is a rotten egg."

"What?  What did she say," said Sherman.

"Come on you old fart," Dom shouted with a wave of his hand.

Kent Brownstein stood from his rocker.  "I must inveigh against the nescience of such a machination against my well-being."

Thirty minutes later, twenty or so oldsters were sitting around the built-in benches of the Rose Arbor eating the last of the donuts, while Shelley sat in the middle of the floor leaning back on her arms staring at the intricate domed ceiling.  Then she dropped her gaze and found herself staring at the bulge in Kent Brownstein's sock.

Everyone who signed up for Briarcliff knew of its policy toward smoking.  Besides the health hazards, smoking created an intolerable risk of fire.  Shelley agreed with the policy – up to a point.

Kent Brownstein was seventy-nine years old.  Shelley weighed the health disadvantages against the satisfaction he seemed to get from the experience and came down on the side of letting the man cheat now and then, but never, ever inside the building.

"Look, ya'll, a cat," said Barbara pointing across the lawn some forty yards away.

"I'm allergic to cats," said Hilda Ligon.

"What kind of cat is that anyhow?" yelled Sherman.

"Goddamn," said Dom as he put his pinky in his ear to stymie the ringing from Sherman's outburst.

Magnolia made a lower-the-volume gesture with her flat hand.

"What kind of cat is that anyhow?" whispered Sherman just loud enough to be heard.

Magnolia looked around and noted the shrugs of ignorance.

"He looks like a teensy-weenie gray tiger what with all them stripes and all," said Barbara.

"What cat?" said Hilda scanning the lawn with no hope of actually seeing the cat, which was progressing straight across the lawn at a good pace.

"Determined little son of a bitch, ain't he?" observed Dom.

"Sir, please!" complained Barbara.

"Dom, we've talked about this already.  Would you try to watch your language, especially around the ladies," said Shelley with the patience of Job.

Dom turned to Barbara.  "I am sorry, madam.  I will do my best not to fuck up again."

Most of those present, including Dom, burst out laughing.

Barbara's fan was but a blur.

They watched as the cat strolled directly to the back door, where it sat waiting.  

Then at the first chime of nine o'clock, someone entered the Sun Room from the veranda and the cat dashed inside.

Shelley stood.  "Come on folks, it's nine o'clock.  And you know what that means."

"It's medication time!" the troops chanted to the tune of Howdy Doody Time.

Everyone began to stand and stretch – everyone but Kent Brownstein.

"I'll be in momentarily if you will be so kind as to accede.  For a man of my clerisy, my cogitating requires privacy," said the smoker.

Dom waddled over and tossed the man a book of matches.  "Here, your cogitating may need these."

On the way back to the building Shelley led her troops in a rousing rendition of I'm a Yankee Doodle Dandy, which, of course, modified Barbara.

Of all the clients at Briarcliff, there were six that were her favorite.  These she called her troops, for reasons that she couldn't recall.  They were Dom, of course, Sherman and Kent on the male side, and Barbara, Magnolia and Hilda to balance it out.

During outings and games there were others who tagged along, but her core group, her troops, would do just about anything at any time if she asked them to.  For that reason, her troops were among the healthiest and happiest at the facility.

They reached the door to the Sun Room at the last chime of 9 am.

Inside the room, the cat lay curled in the lap of a wheelchair-bound woman by the name of Nora Kastles, who was sitting in her usual spot by the window.  Nora looked down at the cat as if she had never seen a cat before, but when it looked up into her eyes, Nora's frail hand moved to the cat's back and she began to stroke it.

"Got a new friend?" Shelley asked.

The woman did not respond.

At the tingling of a bell, the old folks walked to a table where sat Florence.  One at a time the clients were handed a paper cup of water and a smaller paper cup containing their appropriate medication.

Tony waited until Dom had swallowed his blood pressure medicine, then he waved for his attention.  When Dom looked over, Tony tossed his head toward the hallway which led to the workout room.  Dom nodded, then waved at Sherman.  After being signaled of the plan, the black man went to join them.

Tony adjusted the settings on the machine, then Dom sat and began his leg lifts.  Sherman had not yet completed his stretches, so Tony, which was the plan all along, began high-energy repetitions of power lifts on the bench.

They hadn't been in there but a few minutes when there was a voice from the door.

"Mr. English?" squeaked Conrad Wingard.  "Have you signed out for the day?"

Dom stood and walked to where Tony was beginning to raise himself to a sitting position.

"Thanks for showing me the proper technique, Tony.  I could have hurt myself if I kept doing it the wrong way."  Dom looked at Conrad.  "I'm thinking of writing a letter of commendation to the board of directors about this guy.  I've never seen such a hard worker."

"Tony?" Sherman said, or thought he said.  What he actually did was scream so loudly that Conrad's knees buckled.  

Seeing the reaction, Sherman said more softly, "Tony, I'm ready for one of those massages you give so well.  Come on over here and do your magic on my old back.  I'm sure your boss would like to watch you."

Tony looked at the man completely bewildered by the comment, since Tony had never given anyone a massage in his life.

"Mr. English," said Conrad.  "Are you a licensed physical therapist?"

"Ah, no."

"Then I must insist that you reframe from touching Mr. Washington.  If he requires a massage, he can make an appointment with the physical therapist on the third floor.  Have I made myself clear, Mr. Washington?"

"Oh, yeah, you done real good with that explainin', Conrad."

"Mr. Washington, there was a memo," said Conrad with raised brows.

"I mean, Mr. Wingard."

"Much better, Mr. English."  Conrad turned to Sherman.  "Would you like to make an appointment with the physical therapist, Mr. Washington?"

Sherman looked at Dom.  "What did he say?"

Dom put his hands around his mouth and yelled, "He wants to know if you want him to suck your dick!"

The look on Conrad's face made Tony turn his back and clamp a hand over his mouth in an attempt to conceal his laughter.

Sherman got the gag.  He stood and slowly began to unzip his fly.

Conrad Wingard lifted his nose a good three inches, turned, and marched down the hall out of sight.

All three men roared with laughter for several minutes.

"Something funny?" asked Shelley, who leaned against the door jamb with her arms crossed over her chest.

"It was nothing really," said Dom, but immediately began to laugh again.

"Well, come on.  The poker game starts in ten minutes."  Shelley lifted a deck of cards and fanned them.

Fifteen minutes later, Hilda, holding the cards but an inch from her glasses had just bet two pennies when Conrad walked up to the table facing Shelley, who stood watching the game.

"You know how I feel about gambling, Nurse Harvey."

"It's been cleared through the board, Mr. Wingard.  I assure you that the pluses far outweigh the..."

Not hearing a word of the exchange Sherman screamed, "I'll see that bet and raise you two more!"  The amplitude of the declaration caused the chips in the middle of the table to rattle.

Magnolia laid a gentle hand on the man's forearm as a reminder.

"Sorry," Sherman whispered.

"Come back kitty, come back.  Here kitty-kitty.  Here kitty-kitty," said Nora Kastles, still sitting in her chair by the window.

Several people made crude attempts to stop the cat before it dashed out the half-opened door.

The sound of Nora’s voice amazed all of those present.

Shelley walked to Nora's side and lay a hand on her shoulder.  "I'm sure it will come back.  If not, I will form a search party.  I promise."

Nora looked up with moist eyes.  "It only liked me.  It wouldn't let nobody else touch him.  He was my friend," said Nora.

"Don't worry, Nora.  He probably just had to go pee or something," said Shelley.

"Nurse Harvey, could I have a word with you, please," said Conrad, who added, "In my office in five minutes."

The man then walked to the elevator and pressed the up button.

Shelley turned to Nora.  "It was so very, very wonderful to talk with you this morning, Nora.  Can we do it again soon?"

"Of course, my dear."

"May I ask, why haven't you spoken before?"

"I didn't have anything to say," said the woman as if it should have been obvious.  

Shelley made a mental note to ask every non-speaking client if they had anything they wanted to say.

From his seat at the poker table, Kent Brownstein said, "I can most assuredly exculpate you to that choleric little twit for your completely innocuous gesture."

"Is that a good thing or a bad thing?" asked Shelley.

"It's an advantageous thing, my dear."

"What's choleric?"

"Irascible, testy, easily angered.  You want me to go on?"

"That won't be necessary," said Shelley before heading to the elevator for the showdown.

"Good luck," said Magnolia.

"Give him hell, darling," said Dom.

The doors closed before she could hear the last of the encouragements.

When Shelley entered Conrad's office, she found him seated behind his big desk scanning a document.

"You wanted to see me, Mr. Wingard?"

While she waited for him to acknowledge her presence, her eyes moved to an 8 x 10 framed photograph of a singularly ugly woman, who stared up at her from Conrad's desk.  Shelley had been told that it was Conrad's wife, and even though she had seen the photograph often, she never got used to the sadness in the woman's eyes.

Then out of the window behind his chair, she noticed her troops moving into position sixty feet below.  As was their habit when she was called on the carpet, as they put it, it was their duty to cheer her up.  When they were in an area of the lawn where they were sure she could see them, Sherman began to walk back and forth in a pretty good imitation of an Egyptian in an old cartoon.  Barbara began to do the twist.  Kent threw her kisses, while Dom loosened his belt and threatened to moon her.  Magnolia was busy trying to point Hilda in the direction of the window.

"Do you find something amusing, Nurse Harvey?" asked Conrad.

"No, sir."  She removed her smile.

He held the book up.  "Do you know what this is, Nurse Harvey?"

"If I'm not mistaken, it's the Briarcliff policy statement manual."

"No, Nurse Harvey, this is our bible!"

"Amen," she said, then even though she tried not to, smiled at her own wit.

"Let me read something to you, Nurse Harvey.  Section 42, paragraphs 6 through 14."

Shelley listened as the man droned to the end of paragraph 14.  While he read she noticed that her troops had vacated the lawn.

Several minutes later, Conrad concluded.  "Therefore, due to hygiene, disease, and parasite concerns, no employee, client or visitor will be allowed to bring any sort of mammal, bird, insect, or reptile onto any property owned, leased, or otherwise under the control of Briarcliff, Inc."

"Mr. Wingard..."

"You do understand the English language don't you, Nurse Harvey?"

"Yes, sir, but..."

"The creature that you offered to retrieve is a mammal, is it not, Nurse Harvey?"

"May I speak, Mr. Wingard?"

He smiled a patronizing smile.  "Of course."

"Nora has been here for four years, and three months.  In all that time she has never spoken a word.  Today, because of that mammal, she and I had a very pleasant chat.  Don't you think that is worth the risk of getting a few flea bites?"

Conrad shook his head as if he pitied the young woman.  "My dear, Nurse Harvey, a corporation is run from the top down, not the other way around."

The door opened and Dom, Sherman and Kent rushed in.

"Get your hands off that woman, sir," yelled Dom.  "She could seek legal prosecution for such a lewd performance that I see before me now."

"Put your dick back in your pants, you little choleric pervert," yelled Kent.

"I'm glad we got here in time," yelled Sherman.  "There's no telling what this lunatic would have done next."

Right on cue, the office began to fill with the female contingency of her troops.

Conrad Wingard's face was crimson.  

Shelley held up her hands for quiet, then began to usher her friends out the door.  "I know what you tried to do, and I appreciate it, but that's not the way.  Go back to the Sun Room.  I will be down shortly."

By the time she turned back to the desk, Conrad's shock and embarrassment had turned to rage.  He pointed a trembling finger at her face.

"I could have your license for a stunt like that."  Spittle sprang from the man's mouth.

"Mr. Wingard, I had nothing to do with that."

"Then why did they do it?"

She thought for a second, then asked, "Do you want me to be frank with you, sir?"

"Of course I do."

"I don't think they like you.  You are always coming up with those silly little rules that..."

"SILLY LITTLE RULES!  That insubordination!  You can't speak to me like that!"

"I'm sorry, sir, I used a bad choice of words."

"Get out of my office, you...you...GET OUT!"

Florence was the first to meet Shelley when she stepped from the elevator.

"I didn't know what they were going to do.  I'm sorry."

"I know you didn't.  Don't worry about it."

"How did it go?" asked Florence.

"I don't know how much longer I have here."

"I'm going to tell you one thing.  If you go, I go."

"I'll be right behind you," said Tony from the kitchen door.

"I'll go!" yelled Dom.

"Me, too," yelled the rest, except for Sherman, who asked, "What?"

The cards and chips were put away for lunch.  There was some complaining about the meal, but Briarcliff was not your run-of-the-mill facility.  Briarcliff was top of the line and the meals were usually expertly prepared.  Today's trout Almandine was no exception.

A game of horseshoes was organized, with a man named Jake Compton winning his forty-fifth straight tournament.  Jake was a Southerner like Barbara and his undefeated streak was credited by Barbara with the fact that everybody knows Southerners invented horseshoes.

Inside there were the usual knitters and readers.  There was a dart game on the back wall.  But Shelley liked for her troops to be outdoors as much as possible.  The winter was fast approaching and that would afford everyone ample opportunity to catch up on indoor activities.  Fall was for the sunshine.

"Come on ladies, let's go get some flowers to brighten this place up," suggested Shelley.

As most of the ladies began to rise, Shelley walked to the window where sat Nora Kastles.  Shelley had tried several times to prod the woman into another conversation but to no avail.  Nora merely sat staring out the window, murmuring the same words, over and over again – Here kitty-kitty.  Here kitty-kitty.

The ladies in non-motorized chairs were pushed by the more able-bodied.  Those with sight problems were guided by those without sight problems, and even though some of the women were rather fast walkers in their morning workout, everyone fell into the pace of the slowest in the group, ninety-seven-year-old Delilah Johnson, who inched herself along with the aid of a walker.

Within an hour the flowers adorned tables and mantles and the chimes for the cupola rang five times, the end of her shift.  After briefing the night shift supervisor, a nice enough woman named Susan Rodgers, and wishing her friends goodbye, she jogged to her car to start her weekend.

Monday morning found Shelley in her favorite donut shop.  After driving to Briarcliff and being driven to the back door by Tony, Shelley was briefed by the weekend supervisor, Lesley Snipes.

"Do anything exciting this weekend?" asked Lesley.

Shelley looked around and nodded to her old friends.  They knew not to interrupt her during her briefings.  It was a rule they had.

"I didn't find me a man if that's what you meant.  How about you?  Is there anything I need to know about?"

"Nora Kastles died Friday evening about three hours after you left.  Died right in her chair by the window over there.  Did you know she could talk?"

"Did she say anything besides Here kitty, kitty?"

Lesley shook her head.  "Weirdest thing I've ever seen."

"You haven't seen that cat have you?"

"Nope and neither has anybody else.  Dom felt so sorry for her that he got all your troops together and searched the whole grounds."

Lesley reached for her purse.  "Other than that it was same old, same old.  See ya."

Briarcliff hummed along for another two weeks before the cat came back.  

On that day, Jake Compton, the horseshoe champion, was sitting at the piano ripping out a Scot Joplin rag.  When someone noticed the cat heading toward the building a hundred yards away, everyone who was mobile enough went to the window to watch.

"What's going on here, Nurse Harvey?" demanded Conrad Wingard as he made his way across the Sun Room.

Everyone whirled from the window, each looking guilty of some heinous crime.

"We...ah...we..." stuttered Shelley as she looked to her friends for help.

"Bird watching, you little prick, bird watching.  You ought to try it, it's great fun," said Dom.

There was some giggling, but most people stood their ground.

"Mr. English?" said Conrad.

"Yes, sir?"

"Would you lock the door, please?"

Tony looked at Shelley, who nodded, then he did as he had been instructed.

"You may unlock it as soon as the filthy little mammal has departed.  Nurse Harvey, would you join me in my office, please.  There are matters to discuss."

With that said, Conrad entered the elevator.

"I'll be right back, guys," said Shelley as she entered the stairs.

Everyone turned to the windows.

The cat never varied its route.  It never stopped to smell a scent left by another critter.  It never looked around for approaching danger.  It walked directly to the door and sat.

"That fucker wants in," said Dom.

"Not unless you want Tony fired," warned Florence.

Within a couple of minutes most of the people had tired of staring at the cat and resumed their card games, knitting or reading.  Jake played the piano.

It took ninety-seven year old Delilah Johnson almost twenty minutes to inch herself across the room on her walker.  When she got to the window beside the door at the first chime of nine o'clock she opened the window.

Instantly the cat jumped through it, ran the twelve feet to the piano and jumped in Jake's lap, almost scaring the old man to death.

"Sweet Jesus!" screamed Jake as he brushed the cat to the floor.

Most people laughed.

The cat sat beside the bench and stared up at Jake.

"Jake, I think he likes you," said Magnolia.

"Well, I never have liked them.  Any animal who won't come when you call it ain't worth a hill a beans if you ask me."

"Then why don't you see if it will come to you," said Sherman, remembering not to yell for fear of scaring the cat.

Jake frowned at the cat, then stood and walked to the other side of the room.  The cat’s eyes followed his every move.  Jake sat in an overstuffed chair in the corner, then he said, "Come here, boy."

The cat tore across the room, sprang six feet from the chair, and landed squarely in Jake's lap.  Everyone cheered.  The broad grin on Jake's face signaled his delight.

Several people stood around for several minutes marveling at the contented curled-up cat, then the elevator door began to open and Conrad Wingard began to step off.

Moving quicker than he had in years, Kent Brownstein snatched up a folded afghan from a nearby chair, snapped it open and tried to toss it over the cat, but his aim was too high and the afghan ended up completely enshrouding Jake and the cat.

Conrad Wingard walked to the commotion and looked down at Jake.

"What's the matter with this man?"

"It's his turn," said Dom.

"His turn for what?" asked Conrad.

"To be it.  We cover him up and he begins to count to a thousand and we go hide.  Did you ever play that when you were a kid?"

"Why does he have to count all the way to a thousand?"

"It takes Delilah that long to walk across the room," deadpanned Dom, proud of himself that he didn't curse during the whole exchange.

Kent tapped Jake's foot with his own, prompting the man to begin counting.

"Oh," said Conrad before going to the window, where finding no cat, he unlocked the door.

After Conrad left, they removed the afghan from Jake, to find the cat fast asleep.

The cat's visit lasted but an hour or so, then it walked slowly to the door, pausing at the threshold to stare at Jake one last time.

Jake never made it through lunch.  Right in the middle of his Chicken Kyiv he got a strange look on his face and stood.  Then he walked to the same chair where he had held the cat and sat.  He died while being administered CPR by the summoned emergency staff.

The mood was solemn that afternoon while Shelley sat in the arbor with her troops around her.  Oh, they had known plenty of death, but usually, it happened without them having to watch.  Jake Compton had died in full view of people who knew that they would be undergoing a similar fate in the near future.

"Did you see the way that man bounced off the floor when they sent that electricity through him?" asked Magnolia.

"They were doing all they could, Magnolia," said Shelley.  "It was just his time to go."

"They man soiled himself," said Kent Brownstein.

Shelley shrugged.

"I'll tell you right now, when my time comes I don't want a man putting his mouth on mine."  Dom looked at Shelley.  "Can you make sure of that?  I can't imagine spending eternity with the last memory I have is of some big guy tonguing me."

There were a few giggles, which prompted Dom to continue.

"I'll tell you another goddamn thing, if that fucking cat comes back I ain't going to sit down."  Dom laughed and was joined by others.

"That was quite a coincidence," said Barbara.

Heads nodded their agreement.

"I heard of a dog one time that could smell a person and tell if they had cancer," said Hilda.

"I want me one of them dogs!" joked Dom.

"What if there's more to it than just coincidence?" asked Magnolia.

Shelley stood and began to wave her hands for a timeout.  "We are not going to go there.  The cat had nothing to do with Jake's death."

"What about Nora?" asked Sherman.

Shelley leaned close to the man's face.  "No.  We are not going to go there.  Now come on, I've got a surprise for you."

When they stepped off the arbor, everyone but Shelley took steps toward the main house.

"Hey, guys, where are you going?" asked Shelley.

"Where do you want us to go?" asked Magnolia.

Shelley tossed her head to the lawn beyond the arbor, then picked up a large tote bag from the steps.

As they walked across the lawn, Shelley managed to maneuver to Sherman's right side, the side with at least some hearing remaining.

"Sherman, I want you to do me a favor," she said with her mouth only inches from his ear.

"Name it," he said.

"Let this nonsense about the cat go.  Wild rumors like that have a way of messing up a lot of peoples’ heads."

He looked at her with a guilty look on his face.

"Promise?" she asked.

"I promise."

She patted his arm, then moved to the front of the group.  With a grunt the tote was heaved as far as she could, then she got an evil look on her face.

"Uh-oh," said Dom.  "Do you remember what happened the last time she got that look on her face?"

The troops looked around as if looking for an ambush.

Shelley walked to a row of azaleas several yards away, leaned and turned on the sprinkler system.

As the water began to wet them, the troops giggled like school children, then after the initial shock, they began to have fun.  Feet were place over the sprinkler heads in such a way as to divert the water toward others.  Dom squatted on one.  Sherman and Magnolia did a sloppy do-si-do around a revolving stream of water.

When they were soaking wet, Shelley shut off the water and began to hand out the towels she had brought in the tote bag.

The morning after Jake's death, many of the clients waited at the windows for the cat to return.  When the ninth chime tolled, the people ambled off to begin their daily routines.

This daily scenario continued until the crowd that waited for the cat's return had dwindled to only six.  Then, during a downpour, the tinkling of the little bell announced the time for medication.  When everyone had their medication, there was one cup remaining on the tray.

"Delilah," called Florence.

Delilah Johnson did not answer.  

People began to search the building when they discovered that she was not in her room.  After twenty minutes, Tony rushed in the building and as he headed for the front hallway, spoke to Shelley.

"I'll get you a raincoat.  She's on the arbor."

Tony returned with two raincoats and as he helped Shelley on with hers, said, "The cat is in her lap." 

After Delilah had been wrapped in a raincoat and escorted inside and dried, a crowd began to form around her as she sat wrapped in a blanket.  At first the crowd was merely a macabre group of death watchers, then Magnolia sat beside the woman and took her hand.

"Delilah, we haven't talked in a long time.  Could you tell me about your husband?" asked Magnolia.

"I thought I had already told you about my Frank," she said with a strong voice that belied her age.

"You haven't told me," said Dom.

"Nor I," said Kent.

"Well, it was love at first sight.  He was the most handsome man I have ever seen before or since."

With the pause in the story, Barbara said, "Could I get you anything, Delilah?"

"Why, yes.  I met my husband in a malt shop.  Could I get me a milkshake?"

Shelley leaned down.  "What flavor?"

"Vanilla.  My Frank always liked vanilla," said Delilah.

Florence hurried off to the kitchen.

Delilah's eyes brightened as she looked around at all the people paying attention to her.  By the time her milkshake was delivered, dozens of people had pulled up chairs.  By the time in her story that Delilah's husband came back from WWII as a war hero, there was not a sound in the room except for her voice.

Just before lunch, Delilah came to the part of the story of her life when she came to Briarcliff.

"Let me bring you a tray, Delilah," asked Shelley, "so you don't have to get up."

"No, I'm tired.  I think I will go to my room and take a nap.  Would you help me, dear?"

The crowd parted and all eyes watched as Shelley assisted Delilah to the elevator.

When the oldest person at Briarcliff lay down on her bed, she smiled up at Shelley.

"I am going to die, aren't I?"

"We all are, Delilah."

"You know what I mean."

"What do you mean?" asked Shelley.

She shrugged her tiny shoulders.  "The cat."

"What about the cat?"

"I might be old, dear, but I'm not stupid.  Now I want you to do me a favor.  I want you to be with me, but don't call for all those people to do all those awful things to me.  I saw what they did to Jake and..."

"Is there anything, anything at all I can get for you?"

"Would you hold my hand?"

When Shelley stepped from the elevator an hour and a half later, every eye in Quad Rose was watching her.  She made eye contact with as many as she could, then shook her head. Delilah Johnson was no more.

Magnolia rushed to her and threw her massive arms around the sobbing nurse.  

"It will be all right, baby," Magnolia said as only a mother can say.  "Don't you cry now."

"It's just so sad," said Shelley.

"The rain has stopped and the sun is shinin'.  You want to take a walk, darling?" asked Magnolia of Shelley.

Shelley kissed the woman on her cheek.  "I've got an idea."

Shelley asked Tony to towel dry the wet seat, then turned to the gathering.

"Come on, everybody.  I think it's time for a party," 

They watched as Tony walked to the arbor and began to dry the seats.

The group was seated by the time Shelley finished her conversation with Tony and stepped onto the arbor.

Each of the people was deep in thought, but no one dared breach the subject that was on everyone's mind.  Finally, Dom, who detested silence, could stand it no longer.

"I'll tell you one damn thing right this very minute.  If that damn cat comes back, I ain't gonna sit down and I mean it this time."

"Do you mean, sir, that you are of the opinion that the feline in question was instrumental in Delilah's departure into the great beyond?" scoffed Kent.

"Maybe it only predicts when your time is up," posed Magnolia.

"Maybe all the myths about death stalking around to take people aren't so much the taking, but the predicting," said Barbara.

"Are you saying our cat is death himself," asked Hilda.

Shelley had found herself in unknown territory, so she decided to let the conversation run its course before participating.

"I don't know what I'm saying, but I don't feel right chalking it all off to coincidence.  Those three people didn't pick the cat up.  The cat chose them," said Barbara, whose eyes opened wide before she gasped, "Oh, my god!"

"What's wrong," asked Magnolia.

"What is it?" asked Sherman.

"The cat jumped in Jake's lap right in the middle of the chimes of medication time," said Magnolia.  

"And I remember watching Delilah opening that window right when the chimes started," said Dom.

"Nora was the first time the cat came.  It waited at the door," said Magnolia.

"And somebody let it in right when we started in to take our medicine," said Sherman.

"What action, if any, would you advise, Shelley?" asked Kent.

Every eye turned to the nurse, who returned their gaze one by one.

"I don't know what to tell you.  Like the rest of you, I have never had anything even close to this ever happen to me before.  I thought the first two were just coincidence, but now..."  Shelley let her thought trail off.

Sherman looked at Dom.  "Do you really think that not letting it in your lap will keep you from dying?"

"Nah, I just said that to get a laugh."

"So, Dom, what's your take on the cat?" asked Shelley.

"I wonder why the cat doesn’t go up to Petunia?  Those son of a bitches are dropping like flies up there."

"Maybe we ought to leave the stairwell door open for it," asked Barbara.

"Hell, we haven't even tried to pick it up," said Dom.  "I think I'll give the little bastard a bowl of milk the next time he shows up."

"I did some research on the cancer-smelling dog and it’s true. The dog walks around a hospital and only goes into rooms of cancer patients," said Shelley.

"So?" asked Hilda.

"Maybe the explanation for our cat is that it smells something that lets it know the person is terminal."

"That don't hold water, darling.  That cat would have to have a mighty good nose to smell death from the woods where it comes from," said Magnolia.

"That's right," said Hilda.  "It didn't wander around all the time, then jump in a lap.  He only showed up on the day that person was to die."

"Okay, but help me with this.  Let's brainstorm and try to think of a rational explanation before we all jump on the supernatural bandwagon," said Shelley.

"Perhaps there is an auditory stimulant," said Kent.

"You think he hears something?" asked Shelley.

"I didn't say I believed it or not.  It's a mere hypothesis."

"With the first two, maybe.  But it came to Delilah during a rain storm.  You couldn't have heard shit out there on the arbor that morning," said Dom.

Tony walked to the arbor and, without saying a word, placed a heavy grocery bag on the bench next to Shelley.

Shelley waited until the man had left before removing a tube of paper cups and handing the top one to Magnolia.

"Here, hold this," she said, then lifted one of the bottles of cheap wine, unscrewed the cap and filled the cup.

"Who wants red?"

It took several minutes for the choice of wine to be dispensed, then the bottles were discretely hidden behind Shelley's back. 

"So let's list the things that we know for sure," said Shelley.  One, we know the same cat comes back every time.  Two, we know that it comes at or about nine o'clock in the morning." She straightened another finger but did not enumerate.  "We know that it jumps in the lap of a person who shortly dies.  It does not hang around to watch the person die.  Anything else?"

"It chose us.  It doesn't go up to Lilac.  It doesn't go to other facilities.  It only comes here, where we live," said Hilda.

"On what evidence do you base the assumption that it does not visit other facilities?" asked Kent.

"Let's find out, shall we?" said Shelley as she removed her cell phone from her pocket.

"Do you think we ought to go blabbing this around?  Maybe they will come and take our cat away for experiments or some such shit," said Dom.  

"I won't tell anyone anything."  Shelley put a finger to her lips.

In the next twenty minutes, Shelley called three facilities in the area and a local newspaper reporter who she had dated.  None could shed any light on their problem.

"So, it did choose us," said Hilda rather smugly.

"I say we embrace the cat.  Sure if it crawled in my lap, I would know that I was going to die, but, and this is very important, if it comes and doesn't sit in your lap, then you all would know that you were not going to die," said Shelley in an upbeat tone.

"That's easy for you to say.  I'm so old that I don't buy green bananas," said Sherman.

"Think of the possibilities.  Knowing you won't die for at least the next twenty-four hours," said Shelley.

"You mean I could jump off the roof?" asked Barbara.

"The cat has never predicted an accidental death, honey.  I wouldn't push my luck," said Magnolia.  

"So, in a way, that cat is cause for joy, not despair," said Kent.

"And don't forget, also when the cat doesn't come it means another day of life," said Hilda.

Dom nodded his head in agreement.  "That little bastard chose to come here.  He chose, for whatever reason, to tell Nora and Jake, and Delilah that their time was up.  Who are we to fuck with that?"

"Go on," encouraged Shelley.

"I say we sit right here and wait on it."

"You mean right here on the arbor?" asked Sherman.

"That might solve the problem with Wingard not letting it in," said Barbara.

"Can we take our 9 o'clock medicine out here, Shelley?" asked Hilda.

"I don't see why not.  We'll bring everybody out here."

"What about somebody blabbing to Wingard that we are out here waitin' on the cat?" asked Magnolia.

"What they don't know won't hurt them."  Shelley looked around.  "So it's a deal?"

"What if someone catches on and balks at coming?"

"Let them stay inside and lock their doors like those pussies up on Lilac," said Dom causing laughter.

"If that cat chooses me, I will do things I've always wanted to do," said Barbara.

"Why wait?" asked Shelley.

Dom held his cup to Shelley.

"You think you need another one?" asked Shelley.

"I've only had four."  Dom held up four fingers, then waved his thumb.  "I say I have one for the old thumb."

"I'll tell you what I would want to do if I knew it was my time.  I would want a Weber grill so I could BBQ," said Sherman.  

"I think it will be deemed a safety hazard," said Shelley.

"To hell with that.  Use some of my money, I don't give a shit.  I want these people to know what I can do on a Weber."

"Maybe we all ought to start spending some of our money before that damn cat comes back," said Magnolia.

The bottles were empty when Sherman shouted in his best army voice.  "Incoming!" 

All eyes glance to the door from which stepped Conrad Wingard.

By the time he reached the arbor, all bottles and cups were hidden and the group was belting out a rousing rendition of We Shall Overcome.  When Magnolia finished her chorus of Oh, deep in my heart, I do believe, We shall overcome someday, Wingard spoke.

"My wife's psychiatrist has strongly suggested that my wife take an emergency vacation.  I've put a memo on the bulletin board, but since you are in the habit of avoiding the bulletin board I thought I would tell you in person."  Remembering that Shelley had told him that these people did not like him, he glared at each one, then continued.  "I assume you can function without supervision until I return in two weeks."

"I will do my best, Mr. Wingard."

"Very well."  He looked at his watch, then at Shelley.  "Lunch in eight minutes, Nurse Harvey," then without waiting for a reply, he spun and entered the building.

During his journey, Conrad was escorted by Handel's Hallujah Chorus.

The empty bottles were stashed behind the rose bushes for later disposal and the group moved inside for pork loin.

The next morning all but two of Quad Rose were seated in folding chairs that Tony had arranged in a circle.  All of Shelley's troops craned to look at the cupola, then at the first stroke of nine, they scanned the lawn for the cat.

There was tension in the air until the ninth chime, then the six conspirators jumped to their feet to celebrate, which confused those unaware.

Empty medication cups were thrown into the air.

Sherman took a deep, deep breath as if smelling something wonderful.  Barbara marveled at the clear blue sky as if she had never seen it before.  Hilda began to skip around like a child until she fell over a chair, which only made her laugh.  Dom took off his shirt and pranced around flexing his muscles like a twenty-year-old.  Magnolia waved her arms above her head and praised the Lord repeatedly.  Kent trotted to Shelley and grabbed both of her hands.  Both of them were beaming.  

"You were right, my dear.  I feel magnificent!" he said, then pulled her to her feet, held her in a dance position, and began the two-step to When a Man Loves a Woman, which he sang poorly.

When the mood calmed, they moved to the arbor.

"I feel like those lucky motherfuckers who win the lottery!" yelled Dom.

"Oh, please, sir!" said Barbara, who stood and stormed from the arbor.

"What the fuck did I say?" called Dom not so innocently.

Shelley trotted to catch up with her.

"Barbara, those people on that arbor have accepted you.  You're one of my troops now."

"I just find it insulting."

"He's 85 years old.  I'm not sure we can change him."

The woman stopped to face Shelley.  "Why do you let that crass man in your little group?"

"He's my friend."

"Aren't I your friend?"

"Of course.  And so is Tony.  I didn't condemn you for your insult."

Barbara looked remorseful.

"I have an idea, let's you and I work on Dom.  I think with two minds like ours, we can turn him around."  Shelley put an arm around the woman.  "And remember, you know you are not going to die today."

Barbara smiled mischievously.  "So you think old people can't change their ways?"

"I just said..."

"Watch this," Barbara said as she returned to the arbor, where she went straight to Dom Andolini.

"Listen to me, you old fart.  I have decided that I'm not going to give a holy shit about that fucking foul mouth of yours.  So shove it up your ass!"

Dom sat mouth agape.  No one spoke.  Then Dom slowly turned his head to meet Sherman's gaze.

"Look at me you piece of dog shit.  I'm asking you to be my goddamn boyfriend!" said Barbara.

Very slowly Dom stood.  He stuck out an elbow.  "May I have the pleasure of your company for a stroll through the garden, my dear?"

"I would love to, Mr. Andolini," she said, slipping her arm in his.

"Please, my dearest, call me Dom."

"Of course, I shall."  She squeezed his bicep.  "My, it's is true what they say about Italians having strong muscles."

"Well, I'll tell you one thing, if you think my Italian muscles are something, wait 'til  you get a load my Italian sausage," he said with a sly smile.

"Oh, you are such a naughty man."  There was a slight pause, then Barbara Dupree, widow of a judge, said, "But I like naughty men."

"That has got to be the damnest thing I have ever seen in my whole life," said Sherman from the arbor.

Magnolia stood, walked to him, stuck out her hand and said, "Get your ass up, Sherman.  We are going on a walk."

Shelley watched as they stepped from the arbor and walked hand in hand through the azaleas, then she looked at Kent.  

He looked at her.  She tossed her head toward Hilda, who was sitting alone swaying gently and humming to herself.  Kent touched his chest and mouthed Me?  Shelley shooed the man toward Hilda with both hands.

For the first time in memory Kent found himself at a loss for words.  "Hilda, I...ah...well..."

Hilda stood.  "I would love to, Kent."

By the time the cat graced them with his presence ten days later, word of its importance had spread to other quads and the number of people awaiting its return on the lawn had quadrupled.  

Shelley called a meeting of all shift supervisors to explain the cat as the cause of their clients' strange behavior, purposely omitting her own eyewitness account of the phenomena.  Most of the supervisors did not believe any of the rumors about the cat but acquiesced to the will of their charges.

This did not surprise Shelley, since many of the people hired to replace the experienced personnel that Conrad had run off had never before worked in geriatrics.

There was one ancient woman from Quad Rose who, because of severe pain, prayed for the cat to come and sit in her lap.  Several had said that if the cat chose them, then someone was to call their relatives and even had the numbers in their shirt pockets.

There was much discussion of the cat, of course.  Not all the newly initiated were completely convinced.

Comments were made.

"I bet he comes at nine o'clock because he's attracted by the chimes?  Let's try turning it off."

"I say the staff is doing it cause they see the test results."

"I've heard of this before.  It's called self hypnosis.  If we believed in it, then our minds make it happen."

The facility was roughly divided into those who believed the cat killed the people and those who thought it predicted it.  Some of those who began to wait on the lawn prior to the ninth chime were clients who had not been out of bed in months.

Surprisingly, the use of depression medications drop, people seemed to enjoy exercising more, and Sherman taught a group of barely mobile men how to march in formation.

Then the parties began, and each day that the cat did not appear, the parties got wilder.  But there were additional positive side effects.  The clients dressed better and took more interest in their hygiene.  Their health improved.  They ceased to complain about the food and ate ravenously.  They started to celebrate life with a feast, dance, and song, and then it started over with more vigor each morning that the cat did not appear.

The cat changed their lives.  But it was a matter of taste as to whether all of the changes were positive.  One woman ate an entire chocolate cake.  Smoking was rampant.  Many of the clients smuggled in booze and started to play around.  One night supervisor said that one woman, who will remain nameless, removed her teeth and performed oral sex on a male patient.  One man tried to sneak in a prostitute.  They began to mail order lewd magazines, films, and sex toys.  

Novels remained unread, knitting was neglected, and TVs were never turned on.  Instead, normally shy people recited poetry to the squirrels or to people if they were around and cared to listen.  They sunbathed in their underwear.  One night the golf cart was commandeered by a couple for a midnight run to an unknown hideaway and so frightened the staff that the police were summoned.

These people were, in a couple of words, reinventing themselves.

Dom had organized a pool for who would go next.  Side bets were made concerning who would out live the other.  Large sums were wagered.

"What will we do when Wingard comes back?" asked Barbara.

"I done told ya I would throw him off the fuckin' roof," said Dom, and most of those present did not think he was kidding.

"Oh, darling, I don't think that even being the biggest asshole in the western hemisphere is a capital offense," said Barbara, her lashes fluttering.

On the day that the cat returned, it walked to a blind woman by the name of Sondra Culler.  She, not seeing it coming, was startled when it jumped in her lap, therefore she reflexively knock it off.

"Was that the cat?" she asked when her senses returned.

"Yes, Sondra.  It was the cat," said Shelley.

Sondra began to pat her lap.  "Come on, boy.  Come on."

The cat jumped up and immediately curled in her lap, where it stayed for an hour.

When the cat had disappeared into the undergrowth of the forest, Shelley walked to Sondra.

"Do you believe in the cat?"

"I suppose so," said Sondra.

"How do you feel?"

Sondra felt her torso and neck, then said, "I'm fine."

"Is there anything special I can get you?"

"Special?"  The old woman cocked her head.  "How special?"

"Your wish is my command."  Shelley leaned to the woman's ear.  "And I mean that with all my heart."

"You are such a dear, dear child," said Sondra in one exhale.

"Then, what will it be?"

"Well, I think it would be nice to attend my own wake."

Shelley stood and eyed the other clients who encircled her.

"So, let's party," said Dom.

"I guess we could send out for a little wine," said Shelley.

"I want beer," said Kent.  "Coors."

"I want scotch," said Barbara.

"I would like a little weed," said Sondra.

They all looked at her.

"I beg your pardon?" asked Shelley.

"Weed.  Dope.  Reefer.  You know."  The old woman held an imaginary roach to her lips and inhaled.  "My husband was a dealer, you know."

"I'm sorry, dear, but I don't know where to buy drugs in this sleepy hamlet," said Shelley.

"I do," said Tony.

It didn't take Tony and one of the dishwashers but thirty minutes to round up all the libations and a fat bag of high grade weed.

Shelley was shocked that Sondra was not the only one to enjoy the marijuana.  Four men and three other women got so high with Sondra that they giggled constantly and ate every bag of snacks in the pantry.

A crude bar was set up on the veranda, complete with stools brought from all over the building.  Music blared from a boom box; courtesy of the Mexican kitchen staff.

When the party was in full swing, Dom led all of Shelley's troops over to her and said, "Why don't we just leave the bar set up all the time?"

"What if corporate drops by?"

"To hell with corporate," said Dom.

"Then let me ask you something.  Let's suppose that somebody gets drunk and falls down a flight of stairs or something and breaks every bone in their body.  I assume we agree that this person will not die until the cat comes back.  How do we deal with that person living in agony until the cat decides it's their time to go?"

"Fuck it.  I want a bar," said Dom, who then placed two fingers to his lips and whistled loudly.  "Listen up, everybody.  If you think it would be a good idea to leave the bar set up all the time, raise your hand."

When Shelley looked around, she could see no one who did not have an arm up.

Magnolia put her arm around Shelley and said, "We are united now, baby.  We have a voice.  Thanks to that cat, we have the power."

"This is not a prison," said Kent.  "If we walked out en masse, what are they going to do?  Kick us out and lose their income?"

"Shelley, I don't think you realize that we could all chip in and buy this place lock, stock, and barrel if we wanted to," said Barbara.

"The way we run it now, we could advertise it as the Club Med of assisted living facilities," said Dom.  

"We would make a fortune," said Hilda, who held up her decorative table candle instead of a glass for a toast.  "Let's party, dude." 

Sondra Culler died in her sleep later that same night.  Shelley was at her side.

The bar was still in place the next day and no one made any attempts to remove it, though the bottles were all empty.

Sipping the last two cans of beer, Dom and Sherman stood at the window watching the cavorting on the lawn.  There were couples cuddling on the arbor.  Several people were being chased around by a man with a garden hose.  Out beyond the arbor, a kick ball game was in progress.

"You think that cat does something to them to make them do that shit like that movie about them aliens in the swimming pool?" asked Sherman.

"Cocoon," said Dom.

"What did you call me?" asked Sherman as he whirled his good ear toward the man.

"Down, big fella," said Shelley as she stepped between the two men.  "The name of the movie was Cocoon.  That's a fact."

"Hey, G.I. Joe, you want a piece of me?" Dom asked as he reached over and poked Sherman in the chest.

"Stop this right now!  One more bit of that and I will never bring alcohol in here again."

"Old buddy," said Dom.  "I love ya, man."

"Give me a hug, you big lug."

The men embraced with hardy pats to the back.

After they separated themselves, Dom said, "Listen, Shelley, we want to get married."

"You and Sherman?"

"No, silly.  Me and Barbara."

"Why?"

"She's from the old school, if you catch my drift."

"No, I don't catch your drift," said Shelley.

Dom leaned closer to her.  "No sex before marriage.  That's the way she was raised."

Shelley's mouth fell open.

"At your age, sex would be like trying to shoot pool with a rope," said Sherman.

"I've always said that sex is one of the most beautiful, natural, wholesome thing that money can buy," said Dom.

They, of course, chuckled, then Dom look at her and said, "Well?"

"All you really need is a notary," Shelley explained.

"Are you a notary?"

"No."

"Then fake it."

"I can't do that."

"Why not.  Together we are 166 years old.  Give us a break.  The cat might choose us any day now," he pleaded.

Two hours later Shelley stood in front of Dom, in a suit, and Barbara, in a white dress.

"I now pronounce you man and wife.  You may kiss the bride," said Shelley.

After Dom gave Barbara a quick, yet passionate kiss.  Well-wishers swarmed around them, and, of course, another party was organized.

Later that night after all the clients were, if not asleep, then at least in their rooms, Shelley led Tony into the woods beyond the lawn.

"What are we doing out here in the dead of night?" whispered Tony.

"Looking for the cat."

"Why, exactly, are we doing that?"

"To offer it this."  Shelley took a small bag from her pocket.  "This is the most expensive cat treat on the market.  It says right here on the package that no cat can resist it."

"What if we get bit by a rattlesnake or some such shit?"

"Tony, the cat didn't sit in your lap today.  Relax."

"I always thought that shit only worked with old people,"

"There's no rule book, my man."

Fifty or so yards down the path Tony stopped.  "Look."

Shelley turned and followed the beam of his flashlight until she saw the two bright red eyes halfway up a tree.

"What is that?" she asked.

Tony began to back up toward Briarcliff.

"Wait a minute, Tony.  Just stay there for one more minute."

She walked several paces to the right and with the aid of her beam saw the opossum.

"Tony, it's just a possum."

Tony kept backing up.  "I don't like possums neither."

Without further comment, Tony turned and fled the forest.

Alone in the foliage, Shelley swung her flashlight this way and that.  The first hoot of the owl convinced her to abort the mission and soon she was on her way home.

The next morning the chairs were once again arranged on the lawn in anticipation.  The cat arrived right on schedule and made its selection, Leah Lamar, an 80 year old widow of a stockbroker.

With the cat's departure, people gathered around the woman.

Without being prompted, Leah said, "I saw a play one time."

The only sound on the lawn except for the woman's voice was the gentle breeze heard in the leaves far above.

"I remember it just like it was yesterday."

"Would you like to tell us about it?" asked Shelley.

Leah chuckled once.  "What I would like to do – always wanted to do – is perform it."

"We would love to see it."  Shelley turned to the others.  "We all would love to see it, wouldn't we?"

Words of encouragement rang out until the old woman waved her hands in dismissal.  

"Oh, I couldn't.  I just couldn't," Leah said.

"Why the hell not?" asked Dom.

The old woman cleared her throat, then looked down at her hands.  "Well, all of those people were...well...naked.  And I would be mortified."

This was an extraordinarily awkward moment.  No one dared to make eye contact with another, most eyes busy examining their nails or shoe tops.  

The crowd was as silent as a tomb for several seconds, then stoically Barbara said, "I'll get naked with you."

Dom looked at her dumbfounded.

"And so will Dom," added Barbara, who looked at Dom as only a wife can look at her husband.  "We would be happy to be in your little play, wouldn't we, dear?"

Dom swallowed, and with clenched teeth said, "I would be happy to."

"So would I," said Kathy.

Soon the volunteers’ clothes were strewn across the lawn and Leah began to direct her production.  Those too shy for public nudity served as the audience.

"All the boys get over here on this side.  You are all forest fauna.  Dom, you are the bumblebee.  All the girls on this side.  You are all forest flora.  Barbara, you are the lotus blossom, so you need to come on out to the middle right here."

With Barbara properly posed, Leah said, "Dom, raise your arms and fly to the blossom, but don't go straight to it.  Circle it very slowly as if you are appraising its worthiness."

Leah Lamar died in the second act, when the animals were driven into refuge under the swaying flora by a fierce gale for which Leah added the sound effects.  

Even the dear woman's demise couldn't stymie the snickers from the audience as the surviving cast scurried around the lawn for their clothes.

The party atmosphere continued for another four days, quieting only for the 9 am assembly to await the cat.  Shelley had long since given up all hope of keeping her job, even taking the step of sending out resumes.

When the cat came back again all eyes watched its slow progress across the lawn, therefore no one saw Conrad Wingard exit the Sun Room and walk to the circle.

The cat had taken but two strides into the circle when Conrad rushed in and grabbed it by the nape of the neck and held it up as if it were some trophy to his shrewdness.  

Strangely the cat did not struggle or even look frightened.

"Ha?  Now I've got you!"  Wingard looked around at the faces staring back at him.  

"What are you going to do with it," Shelley asked as she stood.

"I'm not going to do anything with it."  There was a collective sigh.  "That's animal control's job."

"Animal control, sir?" asked Shelley.

"Yeah.  They got those humane ways to...you know."  Conrad moved a finger across his throat.  "Now, Nurse Harvey, go call animal control."

"I will do no such thing.  Mr. Wingard, that's our cat.  It's very special.  I beg of you, please don't..."

Conrad turned to Tony.  "You!  Go call animal control."

"That just ain't never gonna happen," said Tony.

"Then I'll just call them myself."

Conrad spun and stormed to the door with such rage that he did not notice the bar and its bottles, or the new Weber grill, or any of the other changes that had been made during his absence.

Inside the Sun Room, Conrad walked to a table and lifted the phone, but then whirled when Dom ripped the cord from the wall.

Most everyone had followed Conrad inside, staring at the man as if they could kill him.  Conrad, the cat in hand, backed to the elevator and fumbled for the button as the crowd closed in.  When the doors opened he literally jumped in and repeatedly hit the door close button.

"What do we do now?" asked Kent.

"We have to get that cat," said Barbara.

Dom ripped the taper from a heavy metal candelabra, held it like a club and pushed the up button. 

"I'll get the fucking cat," Dom said, then gave Barbara a peck on the cheek.

"No, Dom, you can't," Shelley said grabbing his arm.  "Let me go talk to him.  We have some time before animal control gets here."

"You talk to him, but I want to be there," said Dom, leaving no doubt that he was, one way or the other, going to come downstairs with that cat.

When Conrad got to his office, he closed the door, tossed the cat in the corner, and sat at his desk.  Within seconds he had animal control on the line.

Seconds later Shelley and Dom were listening through Conrad's door when he spoke to animal control on the speaker phone.

"I've caught a stray cat.  I want you to come get him immediately," demanded Conrad.

The man on the other end of the line took a bite of a jelly-filled donut, then said, "Then little girl, you need to get your parents to just bring it on down to the shelter."

"I am the executive director of Briarcliff Assisted Living Facility, you fool!  And I demand that you come get this stupid cat," repeated Conrad.

"Can't.  Against policy."

"What, if I may be so bold as to ask, is your policy?"

"We only come if the animal can't be apprehended or to remove the body.  Since you've already told me that you have caught it, then you have to bring it in." 

"Well, if you ask me, this thing looks a little suicidal."

Conrad slammed down the phone, swiveled in his chair, and raised the window.  Then the cat jumped in his lap.  Conrad shrieked like a snake bit little girl, grabbed the cat with both hands, and threw it out of the window down to the concrete slab veranda sixty feet below.   

When Dom heard the screams from downstairs, he reached for the doorknob, but before he could turn it, the door opened and there stood Conrad brushing cat hair from the front of his trousers.

"Hello, Shelley.  Hi, Dom," Conrad smiled, then looked back down at his crotch.

Dom looked at Shelley.  Shelley looked at Dom.  

She said, "Did the cat sit in your lap, Mr. Wingard?"

"It tried to.  It jumped right up on me like we were old friends."  He looked up.  "Now go tell Tony to go get that mess off my veranda."

Dom's grip on the lamp tightened.  Shelley touched his arm and lowered her head.  When he saw her tears, he put an arm around her and led her downstairs.

Every client who was mobile enough attended the funeral far across the lawn next to the tree line.  No one said anything.  There was nothing to say.

After all the other clients went inside or lounged on the veranda, Shelley and her troops arranged themselves around the arbor.

"He's going to die, you know that," said Magnolia.

"Ding dong the wicked old witch is dead," sang Dom.

"Speak of the devil," said Kent.

Conrad walked passed the arbor without speaking.  At the cat's grave, he looked down at the small pile of earth and laughed.  On his way back across the lawn, there was a loud crack, and as they all watched a torso thick limb fell from a huge live oak and missed hitting the man by a mere twelve inches.

The people on the arbor exchanged glances.

"What happened?" asked Hilda.

"A big limb fell out of a tree and barely missed Conrad," said Kent.

"Come on.  I want to be there when he gets it," said Dom, who stood and stepped from the arbor.

On the veranda, Conrad began to do stretching exercises, something he had never done before.

"How do you feel, Mr. Wingard?" asked Dom as he climbed the ramp.

"I feel great.  It must have been the vacation.  I haven't felt this good in years."

Conrad was grinning broadly when he entered the Sun Room ten minutes later.

The group watched as the man neared a grape that had been dropped on the floor.  Each footfall brought him closer to possible injury or death.  Just as his heel approached the hazard he stopped and turned.

"I'll be eating down here with the clients today, Nurse Harvey.  Tell the staff to set me a place setting, please.  I'll be down at noon."

When the man turned and continued to the elevator, he stepped over the grape.

"Well, shit," said Barbara.

Most of them had turned their attention from Conrad by the time that he pushed the up button, causing a shower of sparks to explode from the panel, accompanied by a loud bang.

They all whirled.

"Ouch!" said Conrad as he put the tip of his index finger into his mouth.  He turned.  "That thing could have killed me.  Nurse Harvey, don't let any of the clients near the elevator until I can get a repair man in here."

With that said, Conrad opened the door beside the elevator and took the stairs.  They heard him whistling during his climb.

"There's something very strange going on here," said Shelley.

"No fuckin' shit," said Dom.

"He's supposed to be dead by now," said Magnolia.

"I bet twenty bucks he never makes it down to lunch," said Dom.

"You're on," said Sherman.

At 11:55 the group stood as one and watched the door to the stairs.  At 11:59 there was a loud crash and the sound of something heavy tumbling down and colliding with the door.

"Oh, no!" came the voice of Conrad from the closed door that opened within seconds.

Conrad stepped over the debris at the bottom of the stairs and into the room, then placed his hands on his hips.  "I planned on sharing the slides of my vacation with the clients, but I dropped the projector."  He looked at the table.  "What's for lunch?  I'm starving."

"Beef Wellington, sir," said Shelley.

"My favorite," he beamed, then pinched her on the cheek.  "I bet you knew that and ordered it up special for me."

She shrugged.  "You caught me, sir."

Reluctantly Dom handed Sherman a twenty.

The meal was served, and as he ate Conrad began to describe his vacation.

"On the first night, we went down to the hotel lobby expecting to order an ordinary meal and you will never guess what we found – a free buffet.  And, man, did they lay it on.  There was shrimp and lobster and scallops and fish nuggets and those long skinny hushpuppies that I like so much.  They also had this huge salad bar that had..."

Most everyone had stopped listening by then, but hardly anyone touched their food, fearing that perhaps some sort of food poisoning might be Conrad's downfall.  

Right in the middle of Conrad's in-detail description of the sixth night's buffet, he began to choke.  

At first he politely placed his finger tips over his mouth as if he were going to merely cough, then his eyes widened.  When he began to turn red, he simultaneously looked around for assistance.  After several tense seconds, he stood and placed both of his hands to his throat in the universal choking sign, and Shelley's nursing training kicked into autopilot.

She stood so quickly that her chair tumbled over backward.  With three long strides, she positioned herself behind the man and administered the Heimlich maneuver.

On her third attempt, out of Conrad's mouth popped a piece of beef about the size of a pack of cigarettes.

Conrad took three or four deep breaths, then when his lungs stabilized, he glanced over his shoulder and said, "Thanks."

Then he sat, picked up his fork, took a bite, and said, "On the seventh night at the hotel, they had this sort of grab bag of a buffet.  I think they called it a smorgasbord."

When Shelley's troops saw her walk outside, they excused themselves and joined her on the arbor.

She held her hand out to Kent.  "Give me one of those cigarettes you have in your sock."

A Marlboro was produced and lit and she took one long deep draw.

"Maybe it doesn't work like we thought," said Kent.

"That bastard almost died a half dozen times," said Barbara.

"Maybe the cat didn't actually sit in his lap," said Magnolia.

"He said it did," said Dom.

"Well, actually, he said that it jumped in his lap.  Maybe the cat has to curl up before it works," said Shelley.

"Maybe we should dig the body up and somehow sneak it on his lap," said Hilda.

"Incoming!," said Sherman nodding to the door where Conrad was emerging.

The cigarettes were extinguished.  Dom stepped from the arbor and looked up to examine the sky.

"What are you doing, dear?" said Barbara.

"I'm looking for a meteor or a crashing airplane.  I'm afraid to be too close to that bastard."

"Hi, folks," Conrad said cheerfully.  He waited for their greetings, then said, "I'm knocking off a little early today.  My wife called and said she had a surprise for me."  The man winked at Dom.  "I think I'm going to get lucky this afternoon."  Conrad laughed.

"I hope you have a...good time," said Shelley, but in her mind's eye, she saw the sad face of the woman in the photograph in Conrad's office.

The troops craned their necks to watch Conrad walk around the building en route to the parking lot.

"Who would marry that loser?" asked Dom.

Shelley stood.  "Come on, follow me."

In less than two minutes they were standing at a front window as Conrad's car made its way down the drive toward the highway.

"Hey, look.  Down the road to the right.  There's a car coming and its coming fast," said Sherman.

They watched as the speeding car approached the blind turn thirty yards from Briarcliff's entrance.  Conrad stopped at the stop sign.  The speeding car rounded the turn right when Conrad pulled onto the highway.

Every breath in the room was held when, with Conrad's front bumper only inches from the center line, the speeder zoomed by him in a blur.

All exhaled.

"I bet that son of a bitch shit in his pants," said Barbara.

At three that afternoon, the troops were gathered when Tony escorted two uniformed police officers to the arbor.

Shelley stood.

"Miss Shelley Harvey?" the male officer said as he read from his notes.

"Yes, Officer Randall," she replied reading his nameplate.  

"Miss Harvey," began the female officer named Stanford, "we are here on official business I'm afraid.  Could we speak with you alone?"

Shelley looked over her shoulder and one by one her troops walked a discrete distance away, but still eyed the strangers intently.

"What can I do for you officers?"

"A Mr. Conrad Wingard is your boss?" asked Stanford.

"That's correct.  He's the executive director here at Briarcliff.  He's everybody's boss I suppose.  What's this all about?  And please call me Shelley."

"If you don't mind, Miss Harvey, we will ask the questions," said Stanford.

"Of course.  Sorry.  I've watched enough crime shows to know that,"  she laughed; they did not.

"Mr. Wingard was murdered this afternoon," said Randall.

Shelley looked at the grass at her feet, then slowly looked up to make eye contact.  

"I am so sorry.  How did it happen?" asked Shelley.

"Did he have any enemies?" asked Randall.

"Not that I'm aware of."

"So everybody liked him?" asked Stanford.

"I didn't say that.  Mr. Wingard was a...complicated man."

"Did you like him, Miss Harvey?" asked Randall.

"I couldn't stand the man."

"Did the cat hate him, too?" asked Stanford.

"The cat?"

"It's a straightforward question, Miss Harvey.  Who is the man Mr. Wingard called the cat?" asked Stanford, irritation in her tone.

Shelley pointed.  "In that grave over there."

"May we?" asked Randall as he gestured toward the grave.

"Sure."

Within seconds the three of them were staring down at the empty hole.

"Miss Harvey, where is this guy that Wingard called the cat?"

"He was in there.  It was it's grave."  She pointed.

"You mean cat as in feline?"

"Yes.  But where is it?" gasped Shelley.

"You've got those woods all around.  Probably dug up by a scavenger," said Randall.

"How did it die?" asked Stanford.

"Mr. Wingard threw it out of that window right up there."

"Why?" asked Stanford.

"This morning he told the animal control officer that he thought that the cat looked a little suicidal."

"Did he ever see suicidal tendencies in other animals?" asked Randall.

"Not that I am aware."

Randall looked around.  "Can those people verify your story?"

"Of course."

The two officers exchanged glances as if asking if the other had any more questions, then Randall said, "Thank you, Miss Harvey."

"Can I ask some questions now?" Shelley asked sheepishly.

"Make it quick," said Randall.

Shelley asked, "You said he was murdered?"

"Right in his own home.  We think it was a mugging gone bad.  One .32 caliber hollow point right through his forehead right here."  She touched the spot.  "Close range."

"Oh, his poor wife," said Shelley.

"Wife?"  Randall chuckled and put a hand to his mouth to conceal it.

Stanford tossed her pen toward the troops.  "You go talk to them.  I'll fill her in."

Shelley waited until Randall was out of earshot, then said, "Yes, his wife.  He's married."

"How do you know this?" Stanford asked.

"He talked about her all the time."

"Have you seen her?"

"No, but there's a picture of her on his desk upstairs."

"Would you show me, please?"

When the two women came abreast of Randall, Stanford ordered, "Come with me."

Inside Wingard's office, Shelley reached for the photograph.

"Don't touch that!" commanded Randall.

Using a pen Stanford turned the photograph to face them.

"That's not his wife.  That's his psychiatrist.  That's how we found out that he thought the cat was trying to kill him.  He called her and made an emergency appointment.  She said he was hysterical," said Stanford.

"Why did you rule out suicide?" asked Shelley, still panting slightly from the stair climb.

"No weapon," said Randall.

"Did Conrad own a gun?" asked Shelley.

"He registered a .32, but it wasn't found in his house, ergo, the thief found the gun, offed Mr. Wingard and left."  Stanford shrugged.

"But nothing else was missing was it?" asked Shelley.

"No, but how did you know that?" asked the woman cop.

"Just a guess."

"Well, it's our guess that the thief freaked out and ran off after the murder before he had time to steal anything," said Randall.

Shelley thought about the empty grave in the lawn.  "I just bet it did just that."

"Well, if there is nothing else, we will leave you in peace."

"Just one more thing," said Shelley as she gently guided the woman down the hallway.  "Why did your partner giggle when I suggested that Conrad had a wife?"

"Well, the body was found on the bed."

"So?"

"He was naked."

"What's that got to do with a wife?"

"He was...involved with a blowup doll.  It had on nurse’s whites like yours and he had inked in your name on the nameplate.  That’s how we knew who to ask for when we got here.  He had a whole room of them.  He had a waitress named Debbie.  A cop named Shirley.  About twenty in all."

As soon as the two women made eye contact, they burst out laughing.

"Dom is going to love this story," gasped Shelley.

EPILOGUE

After the disappearance of the cat, it never returned and none came to replace it.  Why these people had been afforded the knowledge of their death date was anybody's guess.  To Shelley's dismay, the clients soon returned to their old lethargic ways.

Shelley tried her best to convince them that they didn't have to give up, but they told her that the magic was gone.  Even her troops, when Shelley encouraged them to partake in this or that adventure, often declined.

She took her most trusted ally aside one day and asked for an explanation.

Dom inhaled as he thought.  "We're tired, Shelley.  I don't know how to put it to you so you can understand except to say we are just fucking exhausted.  You did a great thing, but I think it's best to leave the crazy shit to the young people.  I have been haulin' 200 pounds around for eighty five fuckin' years and now I'm beat."

"So what do you want me to do?" she asked.

"Be patient.  Let us have some fun every once in a while, but let us wait for our cat in the old fashioned way."

Shelley smiled, kissed his cheek, and then said, "You want some more wine?"

"Why not?  I ain’t dead yet."

She filled his cup and waited on him to sip before she asked, "Dom, could I ask you something personal?"

"Will I have to get naked again?"

"No."

"Well, damn."

"I'm serious, Dom.  I've got something I want you to tell me."

He looked at her and wiped the smile from his face.  "I'll be nice."

"You are probably the healthiest person here at Briarcliff.  Hell, you are healthier than 99% of men your age.  So, why are you here?  I know you are able to take care of yourself, I've seen your records."

Dom stared off into the trees.  "There was once this kid by the name of Patrick O'Malley.  Pat grew up in my neighborhood in New York.  We were the best of friends and did everything together."  He chuckled at his memories.  "When the Irish boys would try to kick my ass, Pat would stand up for me.  I did the same when the Italians wanted a piece of Pat.  We would steal together, fight together, and play sports together.

"Then we grew up and he went off to Notre Dame on a football scholarship and I went to Penn State, but we kept in touch through all those years.  I was his best man at his wedding and he was mine, and we got so drunk the night before that I kept dropping the ring.  Our families took vacations together and when we got together we did things that almost got us divorced more than once."

She joined his chuckle.

"Well, we both outlived our wives.  I never had any children, but Pat even outlived his own son.  So a few years ago we were just two old men with nobody."

"Except each other," said Shelley.

"But he lived in Brooklyn and I lived out in Queens.  We saw each other about once a week, I guess.  We would go to a Yankee's game or something like that, but then one day I called him and he didn't answer.  I called him several times, but on that first day I figured he was taking a nap or out shopping or something.  Then, the second day when I couldn't reach him, I started calling hospitals.  Finally I took at train into Brooklyn, broke in his house and there he was."

"Was he...?"  Shelley couldn't bring herself to say the word.

"As a fucking doornail.  He had just laid there all by himself for over four days and nobody knew."  Dom examined his hands.  "His body wasn't in very good shape what with the insects and rats and all."

"And you came to Briarcliff because you didn't want to die alone."

"Nah!  I heard the pretty nurses were easy.  Hey, you got any plans tonight after you get off work?  I'll teach you how I used to go deep when I played tight end for Penn State."

“Why, sir, you are a married man!” she mocked.

“You ain’t even a Notary!”

He roared with his familiar contagious laughter, and she figured that as long as he could continue doing that regularly, then he just might live forever.