When Cats Save Lives

“Oliver, what are you doing here?” Genevieve said to the Siamese cat she nearly tripped over.  Genevieve recognized the cat as belonging to her elderly upstairs neighbor, Mrs. Singh.  She had never seen the cat outside the apartment building and thought it odd that it chose such a frosty morning to come out.  He would roam the halls and occasionally perch himself on the fire escape.  But never when it was this dark or this cold.  The cat rubbed up against her leg and glanced up at her. 

She didn’t know Mrs. Singh well, but she always said hello to her when she saw her in the hallway and held the door for her if she was on her way out. But Genevive was rarely home enough to get to know Mrs. Singh the way she should have.  Her parents knew all their neighbors.  Even the Kennedys that only returned Genevive’s parents’ waves with tight smiles. 

Genevive’s job kept her away from her home most of the time.  Living in a city with plenty of crime could do that to a person who worked as a detective.  If crime was high, Genevive was at work.  And if Genevive was at work, she was away from her home.  

She unlocked the front door of the building and let Oliver in ahead of her.  She followed Oliver, making sure the door was secure before continuing.  The heat from the building felt good on her face.  She had a late night at work and although coming home at five in the morning was not unusual; she forgot how frosty mornings could be right before the sun rose to warm them up.  

She stopped at her mailbox and collected the contents.  She glanced at the cat.  He had stopped at the bottom of the stairs and watched Genevieve.  It was as if Oliver was waiting for her before he proceeded to his unit.  Genevieve watched the cat watching her as she shut the mailbox door and locked it.  

When she approached the cat, Oliver started up the stairs.  Genevieve followed.  It was on the way to her apartment, anyway.  When she got to her door, she took the key out of her pocket.  She glanced at the cat, Oliver paused as if he wanted her to follow him up to the next floor, where his and Mrs. Singh’s unit was located.

Genevieve did not get far in her career by ignoring her instincts.  She thought for a beat and then followed Oliver up the stairs and to Mrs. Singh’s unit door.  The two of them paused, looking at each other.

Genevive knocked.

When there was no answer she knocked again. 

“Mrs. Singh?  I found your cat outside.  I just wanted to return him to you.”  Genevieve said loud enough for Mrs. Singh to hear through the door.

Again, there was no answer.  She felt it would be ashamed to take Oliver all this way without a way to get inside his own home.  She tried the door knob and pushed a little.  The door moved forward.  It was unlocked.  

Genevieve opened the door a crack, large enough for Oliver’s narrow body to fit.  She didn’t want to intrude.  This was not her apartment to march right in and make her own.  But instead of squeezing through, Oliver continued to stare at Genevieve.  She opened the door a little more.  But still Oliver stared at Genevieve.

Genevieve shook her head, “dumb cat.” 

She opened the door wide.  

“Mrs. Singh?” She called out, sure that she had just invaded the old woman’s home.  

But still there was no answer and Oliver did not budge from his place outside the door.  

As part of the police force, Genevive knew that stepping over the threshold of the apartment was against the law.  But she also knew that trusting her instincts was the best tool in her arsenal.  It was not uncommon for Genevive to hear Mrs. Singh above her at early hours in the morning when Genevive was finishing up a day’s work to get a few hours of sleep to start again.  Her instincts told her that Mrs. Singh not responding at five in the morning, was unusual.  

Genevieve stepped over the threshold.  Oliver took a step as well, encouraging her into the apartment deeper.  

“Mrs. Singh?” She repeated even though she was sure that the woman would not respond.

“Mrs. Singh!” Genevieve crouched down on the kitchen floor, ungloved her hand, and put two fingers to Mrs. Singh’s throat.  

There was Mrs. Singh, lying facedown on the floor of her kitchen in a silk red and black paisley pajama set.  Her gray hair splayed against the hardwood.   

Genevieve could pick up a light pulse with her fingers.  With her other hand, Genevieve pulled her phone from her pocket and dialed 911.   She put the phone on speaker and placed it on the floor next to her.

Supporting Mrs. Singh’s head, Genevieve flipped the tiny body over so that Mrs. Singh laid on her back.  She had a minor cut on her brow.  

“Mrs. Singh?” Genevieve said with urgency.  

The response didn’t come from Mrs. Singh but came from her phone.  “911.  What’s your emergency?”

“2323 Sparrow Drive Apartment D.  Send an ambulance.  I found my neighbor unconscious.” 

As Genevieve followed the dispatcher's instructions, Oliver sat and watched. That was all he could do now.  He did all he could do.  

Mrs. Singh had always been an early riser.  Every morning, Oliver followed her into the kitchen and watched her from the doorway as she boiled the water for her English Breakfast tea.  But when she clasped at her chest and collapsed, causing her to hit her head on the kitchen counter, Oliver knew he couldn’t sit and watch her die.  

Mrs. Singh always slept with the window in her bedroom cracked.  Oliver slipped out the window and was relieved to see the neighbor from below walking toward the building.  Oliver knew he needed to get her attention and so he did.  

Oliver watched as the paramedics entered the apartment.  He watched as they placed Mrs. Singh on the stretcher.  He watched as she opened her eyes a squint.  He watched as they rushed her out of the apartment.

A police officer with a black bun pulled tight at the nape bent down to pet Oliver, “It’s lucky you found her when you did.  If any more time had passed, she likely would not have made it.”  Oliver pushed against the officer and purred.

“It was not luck at all,” Genevieve said.  “It was Oliver.  He got my attention and brought me to her.” 

“Hey Oliver,” Genevieve turned to the cat, bending down to pet him.  “How about you come live with me for a few days?  Just until Mrs. Singh can come home.”  

Oliver stopped pushing against the officer and took a step toward Genevieve, pushing against her hand.  He would like that very much.