Journal of a Sabbatical

September 8, 1998

aging

"On the way, alongside the road they encountered a man bent over with age. His hair was gray and sparse, his face wizened, his eyes red. His hands shook and his gait was unsteady as he walked feebly, leaning on a stick. The prince asked Chandaka, "Who is that man? The hairs of his do not seem to resemble those of other people. His eyes are strange, and he walks so oddly."

Chandaka replied, "Lord, that is an old man. He is that way because of the effect time has on everyone who is born. What that man has are the afflictions of old age that await all of us. The skin dries and wrinkles, the hair loses its color and falls out, the veins and arteries stiffen, the flesh loses its suppleness and shapelessly sags. We are beset with pains. Our eyes, skin over and get red. The rest of our senses grow feeble. In fact, as time goes on, our whole body winds up with little strength left in it, hardly enough to move us along, as you see with that old fellow there."

When the prince heard this explanation, he became frightened and upset."

from The Life of the Buddha

Copyright © 1998, Janet I. Egan

Muddy Quahog Shell 9/798

Martha called when I was getting dressed this morning to tell me we are scheduled to bring cats to Brigham Manor again today. Oops. I didn't have it on my calendar. Fortunately, I have nothing else on my calendar either as I was planning to spend some time loafing the soul and sometime working on the infamous IDRI web page. I've had a burst of energy since the weather got cooler, so I wasn't too daunted by the thought of doing pet therapy today.

I met Martha at the shelter and we put the usual suspects, Alexis, Chantal and Fluffy, into cat carriers. Chantal is very heavy so we put her in this new carrier that's got wheels on the bottom and a plastic handle like on a kid's wagon. I looked silly wheeling Chantal across the parking lot but it was a lot easier on both of us than my trying to carry her.

We only brought three cats this time because we've figured out from our previous two visits that it takes two people to manage three cats. Last time we brought four, but we had an extra person 'cause Joan-west came with us. The residents were packed into the activity room and it was hard for us to get around to everyone to give them their chance to pet a cat..

Fluffy spent the entire time on Mrs. Littlefield's lap so effectively we only had two cats circulating. They got tired real fast. Real fast. Chantal crawled under a credenza and refused to come out. I laid down on the floor and tried to get her out from under but I knocked an empty chair against the door in the process. The alarm went off and the activities director didn't have the key to deactivate it so we had a beeping alarm soundtrack to add to Alexis and Chantal's stress levels.

Considering how many people there were and all the noise and heat and stuff, the cats did really well. Nobody got scratched or bitten. Both Alexis and Chantal are really gentle.

It was amazing to see people who can barely talk respond to the cats. One woman who was really out of it, started crying when I put Alexis on her lap. She was babbling and had her eyes closed but she reached one hand out and stroked Alexis.

Some of the more verbal people shared stories about cats they'd had either in childhood or before they came to the nursing home. One woman kept asking when her daughter was coming to take her home. Another woman kept asking me "what's that on your shirt?" It was a marine iguana, so I just said "a lizard"."Well, you should know it's ugly. It really doesn't look well." She asked me Chantal's name every time she petted her.

One lady, who was even more verbal than the rest, told me about her two sons who live nearby, and then told me she's 70 years old. 70! My mother is older than that. Some of my friends are close to 70. This shook me a little.

Actually it shook me a lot. Usually I enjoy being with the elders and don't get all caught up in what it'll be like when I get old, but today I started imaging myself in a nursing home, not as nice as Brigham Manor, at 59 or 60. I think my knee was hurting from crawling around on the floor after Chantal, and then later Alexis, so the arthritis fed into my imagination.

Anyway, Chantal got so stressed out that I put her in her carrier and set her in the hallway while Alexis and I went upstairs to visit a woman who wanted to see a cat but didn't want to come down to the activity room. At first Alexis was pretty good. She sat on the woman's lap and purred a little. Then she got up and hid under one of the beds. I had to crawl on the floor under the bed to get her out. I put her in her carrier and was just about to close the door when she leaped out at me and scratched my neck as she tried to get away. I caught her again and carried her downstairs under my arm with the carrier in my other hand and asked Martha to help get her inside. She fought Martha too. This is not like Alexis. She's the mellowest cat we have. She'd just plain had enough and wanted to hide someplace. The carrier didn't strike her as a good place to hide for some reason, although it had seemed that way to Chantal. It wasn't until after we got all the cats into their carriers and were leaving the building that I realized my neck was bleeding.

Back at the shelter I noticed my shirt was now even uglier than before because my neck wound had left a blood stain above the ugly lizard. I was also covered with cat hair because Alexis sheds when she's stressed. I cleaned myself up, washed the cut with anti-bacterial soap, and wiped the sweat off my glasses before I went home.

All the way home I imagined myself aging.