Good cat, bad cat

I read an article yesterday about Oscar, a cat who resides in a nursing home (the shelters around here are getting very creative with their placements) as a pet for the residents. Seems Oscar has a rather unusual talent: He predicts when the residents are going to die.

Oscar will go into a room, curl up beside a resident, and voila -- within four hours the nursing staff finds that the person has passed away. This has happened 25 times in the two years Oscar has been in residence. And Oscar has never been wrong. About the person dying, I mean. I'm sure he is wrong about plenty of other things.

The staff is not sure how Oscar knows people are not long for this world. They speculate that he senses some odor on them, or possibly he is picking up signals from the staff ("Red alert! Red alert!" might be one). But for sure, they believe that Oscar somehow recognizes that people are going to die and goes in to comfort them in their last moments.

Which is all well and good, if that's what's happening. But I have to wonder. Wouldn't you, as a director of this facility, be just a little bit worried when a stray cat lies down with 25 patients and within just a few hours they are gone?

The staff is very much in awe of Oscar's sensitivities and has even taken to calling residents' families when they notice Oscar in a resident's bed. Can you imagine that call? "Um, Mrs. Rosenblatt, you might want to come down here within the next 3.3 hours, as our cat is in bed with your mother...well, no, your mother seems just fine, but no one lives very long after the cat sleeps with them."

If I were Mrs. Rosenblatt, I'd come, all right. I'd come and get my mother OUT of that place.

Because maybe Oscar is not as benign as everyone seems to think.

Maybe he is passing along some disease to these poor elderly people.

Maybe they are allergic to cats.

Maybe these people had something Oscar badly wanted, like catnip.

Or maybe Oscar is secretly working for someone who preys on older people for their money, and that someone attaches some deadly instrument of death to Oscar that transfers itself to the intended victim a few hours after he makes his visit. Oscar probably receives a kickback for his services, like more catnip, or extra petting.

Or maybe I am just watching too much Monk.

"If I ever go into a nursing home," I told Joe firmly, "make sure it is cat-free."