Five years ago my neighbor, Mrs. Renée, buried her veteran husband and was left completely alone. The couple had never had children, and the widowed old woman could not stop thinking about her beloved Marcel.
They had wed just before the war broke out. Marcel went off to fight while faithful Renée waited at home. He returned alive but without his left hand. He loved his wife deeply and had sworn to protect her forever, yet he could not keep that promise; he died, leaving her utterly alone.
On the anniversary of his death a large black cat appeared at her doorstep. It showed up in the dead of night, meowing plaintively as a snowstorm raged and the wind howled outside. Somehow Mrs. Renée heard the cries, opened the door and found an unfamiliar feline. Moved by pity, she let the animal inside and offered it a little milk.
The cat spurned the milk, strutted proudly through the rooms, inspected the house, and finally settled on Renées pillow, began to purr, and fell asleep at once.
Renée could not bring herself to shoo the cat away and fell asleep beside it. In the morning she examined the creature more closely. It was wellgroomed, wellfed, and looked nothing like a stray. Jetblack as ebony, with huge green eyes and a dignified bearing, it bore a striking detail: the toes on its left front paw were missing, as if torn off.
My dear Marcel! she sobbed. The cat gently leapt onto her lap and started to purr.
I must give you a name perhaps Felix? she whispered while petting its ear. The cat flinched, then stared at her with such intensity that she was taken aback.
THAT LOOKS LIKE A HUMANS EYES! NOT like human eyes, BUT ACTUALLY human!
I see, Felix doesnt please you. How about Théo? Its a nice name, she hurriedly suggested. The cat huffed a displeased meow, jumped off her lap and began clawing at the couch with deliberate care.
Fine, fine. I wont name you. Youll just be The Cat. But please leave the couch alone, she pleaded. The cat muttered something unintelligible, obeyed, and withdrew dignified to the bedroom.
Thus began the life they would share: Mrs. Renée and The Cat. I visited the old lady often, and she would tell me astonishing things about her feline companion.
First, The Cat tended to her. After Marcels death Renée suffered a heart attack and frequently felt chest pain. Whenever she lay down, the cat would curl onto her chest, purr, and fall asleep. The pain vanished as if it had never existed.
One truly bizarre incident happened later. Renée was resting on the sofa while The Cat dozed beside her. A knock came at the door. She rose to answer, with the cat trailing her. It was Robert, the neighborhood drunk and troublemaker. He jammed his foot in the doorway, swore loudly, and demanded money for a drink. Renée tried to refuse, but he grew increasingly insistent and vulgar, eventually insulting her and desecrating the memory of her late husband.
Suddenly The Cat let out a low growl and lunged at the man. Robert pushed it away, but the cat came back, nearly snapping at his throat. Cursing, Robert lost his footing and fled. The Cat gave Renée a meaningful look with its HUMAN EYES, flicked its tail proudly, and retreated to the room, mission accomplished.
Another day Renée prepared to go to the municipal office to request firewood and asked me to accompany her. We would have to take the bus to the town centre, so I agreed and arrived at her house early in the morning.
She sat on the bed in her housecoat, looking bewildered and uneasy.
Mrs. Renée, why arent you ready? We could try to catch a ride if the bus is delayed, I urged.
My dear, I wont leave. Im sorry, she answered softly.
Why?
I dont know how to say it please dont laugh The Cat has forbidden me to go.
How can that be? Ive taken the day off and youre talking about your cat! Come on! I protested.
Listen, dear. I had everything ready the night before and went to sleep. I dreamed that The Cat spoke to me, just as you do now It looked at me and said:
Stay at home, Renée. Dont go tomorrow.
My throat tightened! It wasnt just the cat speaking; it called me Renée! Thats exactly how my late Marcel addressed me! And the voice was Marcels voice! Then the cat sang a song Marcel loved:
In the backcountry fields,
Where they hunt for gold in the mountains
Do you remember, little Renée, I sang that when I went to the front?
Even so, I managed to ask:
Marcel, is that you?!
Methodically, yes. I see how hard it is for you alone, so I have returned
Tell Lucie not to go through the operation. She would not survive
And then I woke up.
Saying I was shocked would be an understatement. I sat silent for a long time, trying to catch my breath as if I were a fish out of water.
Then a thought struck me:
Mrs. Renée, are you feeling all right? Perhaps we should call emergency services; your blood pressure must be high.
I feel better than ever, dear! I just talked with my Marcel! she replied, smiling through tears.
I still measured her pulse; surprisingly, it was normal.
From that moment on Renée began calling her cat Marcel, and, oddly enough, it answered immediately to that name.
Her predictionsor the catscame true. The bus we were supposed to board nearly crashed that day; icy roads caused the driver to lose control. No one died, but many were injured. Coincidence? Perhaps. A week later Renée finally received the firewood she needed.
She asked me to call Lucie, Marcels niece, and tell her to cancel her surgery. Lucie ignored the warning and died on the operating table.
Another coincidence? I dont think so.
Thus they lived together: Mrs. Renée and her cat Marcel. He continued to soothe her and guard her, staying by her side until her last days.
Renée lived to be ninetyfour, passing away last year. Up to the very end she remained resilient, constantly worrying about Marcel. She had asked me to look after him if she ever vanished.
She slipped away peacefully in her sleep, without pain.
I recall how Renées cat mourned her. Its once sleek black coat had turned white with age.
For the three days that her body lay at home, Marcel never left the coffin. I EVEN SAW TEARS STREAM FROM HIS EYES! People tried to shoo the cat away, but inexplicably it always returned to the casket, sitting and weeping.
Marcel accompanied the deceased to her grave, and when she was buried he stayed there. I tried to catch the poor animal to bring it home, but it fled.
The cat remained at the cemetery, on the tomb of Mrs. Renée and her husband. He refused to come to me, so I visited daily to feed him.
I worried about how the cat would survive the winter there, and I attempted to force him back to my house. Once I succeeded, but he escaped the same day, and I found Marcel back at the graveyard.
Winter was harsh, yet the cat endured. He died early in spring. When I came to feed him as usual, I found him curled up beside Madame Renées cross, appearing to keep watch over her resting place.
I cannot say whether Marcel was an ordinary cat or the spirit of the late grandfather Marcel truly inhabited it.
Reincarnation is often discussed nowadayspeople believing a soul can return in any form, even a cat, in a subsequent life.
I dont know if thats possible, but for some reason I like to think Grandfather Marcels spirit lived inside that feline. He returned to his dear Renée to protect and save her
And he stayed with her until the end, just as he had promised.
Five Years Ago, My Neighbour Buried Her Veteran Husband and Found Herself Alone.
