Once upon a time, I volunteered at a local nursing home. One of my favorite residents was a man named Marley, a veteran with only one leg.
More importantly, Marley was in possession of an imaginary girl cat named Seymour.
Marley and his cat moved into the home on my first day, and we instantly bonded over our inability to find the bathroom or pronounce the head nurse’s name.
Being one of six children, and godmother to many, I have extensive experience with imaginary friends. This, combined with our bond, led the nurses to pair us together all the time.
I stopped by every day to empty an imaginary litter box and fill an imaginary bowl. Sometimes, school would run late and I would miss my chance to get to the home at all. The next day, I knew I’d be picking up imaginary cat poop from the corner of the room. Seymour could share Marley’s food for a night, but she was quite particular about the cleanliness of her box.
Marley would just apologize, point to the imaginary bowel disaster, and say “That dang cat.”
Sometimes the other nurses would knock over the imaginary food bowls or litter box on their way out the door, and I’d have my work cut out for me. Marley would help where he could, but bending down didn’t come as easy to him as it once did– and most of the nurses adamantly refused to have anything to do with Seymour.
Slowly, through listening to quiet murmurs, I began to build a picture of what the imaginary cat looked like. She was old, and all white, with the exception of a little brown spot behind her right ear.
As far as I was concerned, Marley and his kitty were the two best things about the nursing home, but not all the volunteers and nurses felt the same way.
One day, a classroom of second graders were scheduled to march through and interact with the residents. The other nurses didn’t want the Seymour situation to be an issue, so they called me in early– to manage Marley. I wheeled him out of his room, with a blanket on his lap. I told him to hide Seymour because I would get in really big trouble if the nurses saw that we let her out of the room.
We rolled down the hallway and into the lobby to interact with the children. Almost immediately, one little girl caught onto the situation and I told her what was going on. She asked how old Seymour was, and Marley began sharing stories of all her kitty-escapades through the years.
The trio seemed settled, so I went around to check on the other residents– keeping my eye on Marley. When it was finally time for the kids to go home, I saw the little girl running ahead of all the others with a beaming smile on her face and something suspiciously invisible in her arms.
I walked back to Marley and saw that Seymour was no longer in his lap. Don’t ask how I knew– I just knew.
“Did you give Seymour to that girl?” I whisper-shouted, so that the nurses wouldn’t hear in case I was wrong.
Marley smiled calmly and replied with a nod. I had a million questions, but the most important came first.
“Why?”
“Simple,” he said, wheeling himself back to the room, “I didn’t tell her about the spot, but she could see it. She pays attention! That’s what Seymour needs. She’ll be happier now.”
* * *
After that day, Marley began to socialize with the other residents a bit more. He started walking around his room, using all the extra space that wasn’t taken up with imaginary toys and litter boxes. He was happy, so no one– not his family, me, or the nurses– brought up Seymour.
But once he went to bed with the other residents, the staff and families would rest in the main lobby– and it wasn’t uncommon for someone to randomly declare, “I miss that dang cat.”
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I never had an imaginary friend, except for ones invented for the sole purpose of driving my older brother crazy. I’ve always wanted to write Seymour’s story, though, so I’m glad Remember The Time prompted us to talk imaginary.
Isn’t Seymour a great name for an imaginary cat? Have you ever volunteered or worked in a nursing home?
Did you have an imaginary friend? Share your tale, or better yet, write a post and link up! http://www.inlinkz.com/wpview.php?id=340359