Episode 4: Cat Therapy

for a preface, see the home page of my work stories: Paradise (aka The Job)
It's still dark out when I punch in the entry code at the Memory Care unit. As usual, I've arrived with a cart full of clean dishes and random supplies and ice for the water dispenser. I'm putting away cups when I hear meowing behind me. The unit has had a cat now for a few months, and when it sees the kitchen light on, it comes pattering in, meowing and stretching, rubbing against a chair, begging for affection.

One potential symptom of dementia is paranoia. People get so they think their care providers and children and even spouses are wishing them the worst or waiting for them to die, etc. In a case like that, a person might find they can at least trust an animal if they can't trust people. I suppose that is one specific reason they've chosen to have a cat in Memory Care, outside of the obvious reasons of getting those people to interact with their world and to find healing in the innocent physical contact that happens between owner and pet.

When she comes into the kitchen begging for attention, I can't help but oblige. I meow back until I'm finished putting things away and then give her a good scratch around the ears. Then she flops on her back and stretches, waiting for a pat on the belly and a massage around the jaw. I spend several minutes forgetting that I'm at work, just playing with the cat, listening to her purring. Then I wash my hands and head back the way I came. Sometimes she'll sit with her tail curled around herself and watch me curiously as I leave.

I'm not usually in that unit much longer than it takes to drop off supplies or pick up dishes, so I don't know how much the residents make use of the feline's company, but it certainly is doing me some good. There's something to be said for a little Cat Therapy! It's not a bad way to start the day.