Nostradamus

CNN ran a story yesterday about a cat who lives in a nursing home and is able to predict when patients are going to die. Apparently this cat, Oscar, cuddles up in bed next to people during their final hours and, so far, he's batting 1000 (25 out of 25 correct).

People quoted in the article were speculating on whether he "notices telltale scents or reads something into the behavior of the nurses who raised him" or if he is "driven by self-centered pleasures like a heated blanket." I personally find it hard to believe that patients only get heated blankets in the final throes of life. Surely there are other beds Oscar can curl up on, no?

When my grandfather was ill, my sister and I were convinced that my mom's cat, Ashley, knew he was dying. There were times when, I swear, it looked like she was watching people move around the living room who we couldn't see. A little freaky.

Like animals who sense impending danger (e.g., earthquakes, tornadoes), I wonder if it is possible for certain animals, like Oscar, to receive advanced warning signals of some kind. Maybe it's as simple as a change in atmospheric pressure or the ability to detect small tremors in the earth; but, perhaps it's something more intuitive.

A friend from grad school once stayed on our couch for weeks while looking for a job in the city. He told me that he always knew when I was coming home -- and it didn't matter if it was 10:00 a.m. or 6:00 p.m. -- because our cat, Stinky, would wake up from her nap and start to groom herself a few minutes before I walked in the door.

Whatever the cause, I'm flattered! If only my kids could tap into that psychic ability and pick-up their toys before I walk in the door, now that would be something.

Best Friends Forever

Aside from a brief moment of knowing where a certain document of my boss’ was (in the wrong client file), I haven’t had a strong intuitive experience in many years. The last one I did have was really strange, however.

In NYC, I had a girlfriend with whom I did everything. Drinks, dinner, shopping. My favorite thing of all, however, was sitting with her on the rock by the pond in Central Park. We would spend hours there on weekends casually scrutinizing the wedding parties in the boat house and watching the couples who rented rowboats.

One night, she and I went out to meet some friends of hers and then we shared a cab across town. I was heading home and she was meeting up with her boyfriend (who my husband referred to as “Chinless”). She asked me to come into the sports bar where she was meeting Chinless to make sure he was there before I took off. I did.

She then said she would walk me home if I waited for her to use the bathroom. The minute she left, Chinless turned to me frantically. “Did you see anything when you came in?” I had no idea what he was talking about but it couldn’t have been good.

When we went to leave, he said he wanted to come outside with us for a moment and smoke a joint. He went to get his coat and, as he walked away, he whispered something to my friend. She asked aloud, “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” I shared with her what he said to me. She looked pissed.

When we got outside, they were smoking pot while I was doing a handstand against the building (one of my default stress-relief mechanisms). Then, as we went to leave, he and I hugged goodbye slightly. She spewed, “get your hands off her.”

To make a long story short, we walked toward my apartment and then stood by the river at Carl Schurz Park watching the boats pass by and the moonlight ripple on the waves. It was very peaceful.

When I hugged her goodnight, a big booming voice sounded in my head, “You will never see her again.” It was so loud, I was taken aback.

When I got inside and told my husband, he told me I was probably feeling some weird vibes because she was stoned. I wasn’t.

She was my best friend for years and I’ve never seen or heard from her again. And sometimes I still miss her.