Sometimes I think animals know more about the human condition, or rather the spirit, about this returning home, and what happens in the vestibule of time between where one passes from this life into the next.   My aunt's cat Whiskers wouldn't leave her side.  Refused to move from the foot of the bed, even when her feet began to curl.   And then for about a day, the cat refused to be anywhere near the bed, arching her back, hissing, bristling as if aware of something we'd missed.  It was as if perhaps she knew about the trial of the heart being weighed, all the decisions being made before the end, those occurring on the other side in the same manner that we scrambled here to find her last will and testament.   I assumed all went well, though, because after that day, Whiskers spent the last night sleeping beside her owner, again refusing to be moved.

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