For as long as anyone could remember, Whiskers had been a resident of the nursing home. The employees vowed that he had just shown up one day, walking in as if he were a regular. He was quite particular and could hardly stand most of us. With Mr. Delano, though? It was not the same.
Whiskers would climb into Mr. Delano’s lap every morning and snuggle up while the elderly man caressed his fur with unsteady hands. Their routine consisted of quiet understanding moments, loving pet care, and soothing murmurs. They were inseparable, but no one knew why.
Then Mr. Delano died in his sleep one evening.
We anticipated that Whiskers would be waiting for him by the window the following morning. Rather, we discovered him curled up on Mr. Delano’s vacant bed with his eyes half-closed and his paws tucked under his chin. All day, he remained still.
One of the nurses let out a gasp that evening while we were gathering up Mr. Delano’s meager possessions.
Inside his drawer, she had discovered an old photograph.
Mr. Delano was happy and carrying a little black-and-white cat when he was considerably younger.
There were only four sentences scrawled in fading pen on the back:
“Always waiting, my boy.”
My breath froze in my throat as I turned to face Whiskers, who was still curled up on the bed.
Really, could it be?
Whiskers got up, stretched, and padded out of the room without making a sound.
Whiskers didn’t behave like himself for days. He refused to stay there for very long, ate very little, and ignored calls for his name. His green eyes had lost their shine, as though he had lost his identity.
One of the nurses remarked, “Perhaps he’s just grieving.” “Animals also experience loss.”
However, there was more—something more profound. It seemed as though he had lost a purpose in addition to a friend.
Then, one night, right before closing, an odd incident occurred.
Whiskers abruptly raised his head from where he had been lying on the couch near the fireplace. He twitched his ears. After a second of his entire body going rigid, he leaped to his feet and trotted down the corridor.
I followed out of curiosity.
He escorted me to the front door, where a young man stood uncertainly, looking about as though he wasn’t sure whether or not to enter. In his mid-twenties, he exuded a tense energy and had weary eyes.
Whiskers purred deep and rumbling as soon as he saw him, a sound that none of us had heard since Mr. Delano’s death.
The man’s eyes widened as he knelt down and saw the cat. He whispered, “Hey, buddy,” and tentatively extended a hand.
I was shocked to see that Whiskers rubbed his face against the man’s palm like if he were an old friend.
The man gave me a glance. “I think I may recognize this cat.”
I had a racing heart. “How?”
After a moment of hesitation, he took his phone out of his pocket. He found what he was looking for with a few swipes and showed it to me.
The picture was old. of him. as a little boy.
A black and white kitten with Whiskers’s piercing green eyes was in his arms, snuggling against his breast.
He said, “My grandfather had a cat that looked exactly like this. Scout was his name. He ran away when I was a child. Grandpa always claimed he was still out there, waiting for us, but my parents told me he probably didn’t make it.
I had a constricted throat. Mr. Delano was your grandfather, right?
The man swallowed hard and nodded. It had been years since I last saw him. It wasn’t until I received the call of his death that I realized he was here. I came to see if anything that would still feel like home was left of him. His voice was full of emotion as he glanced down at Whiskers. “I believe I’ve just discovered it.”
Whiskers appeared calm for the first time in days. Curling around the young man’s legs as if he had discovered what he was searching for, he purred louder.
Perhaps he had.
The young man, Daniel, and I were sitting in the common area that evening looking through old photo albums that had been left in Mr. Delano’s room.
I informed him, “He always talked about you.” “He used to express his hope that you would visit him someday.”
Daniel gave a shaky breath. “I wish I had.” Life became hectic. I suppose I always believed I had more time.
For a while, we sat quietly while Whiskers fell asleep in Daniel’s lap, appearing happier than he had in days.
When Daniel eventually got up to go, Whiskers didn’t follow him. As though he had already made up his mind, he followed him, step by step.
“Are you bringing him along?” Half-seriously, half-jokingly, I inquired.
Daniel paused. Then he grinned as he glanced down at the cat. He said, “If he’ll have me.”
As though to indicate that the choice had already been made, Whiskers flicked his tail.
He suddenly had a new place to call home.
The youngster had once lost his cat, and Mr. Delano had once lost his boy. However, fate, patience, and time had all worked together to bring them back together.
Perhaps love never really goes away. Perhaps it simply waits for the proper time, like a cat in a nursing home or an old photo in a drawer.
Tell this story if you think that second chances are powerful. Love just finds a way sometimes.
