The Shape of Companionship

Mildred’s eyes flew open.

In an instant, she was wide awake. Despite her impressive age of 78, Mildred’s discipline remained that of the ambitious 24-year-old who had arrived in Chicago some 50-plus years ago, with dreams of becoming a surgeon. She sat up straight, swung her feet over the bed’s edge, and slipped into her orderly placed slippers. With a kind of automation that can only be achieved by years of routine movements, she made her bed, opened her shades, put on her satin robe, and made her way into the kitchen. There, she set up her tea kettle, opened up the cupboard, and grabbed one of the five identical white teacups with a golden rim. Waiting for her water to boil, she prepared her daily cup of tea – a ritual that had been forged over the past 50 years: The white cup, placed on the matching saucer, accompanied by a tiny golden spoon. Then one Fortnum&Mason Earl Grey teabag and a splash of almond milk. Admittedly, the almond milk was new. She had been a regular milk drinker until her daughter began avoiding dairy a few years ago, and she had bought some to have on hand, just in case Dina popped by. However, Mildred had to admit that after trying it herself, she had developed a fondness for the milk alternative and now purchased it for her own enjoyment as well. With her tea in hand, she headed straight for the double glass doors, leading onto her balcony.

Stepping outside, she took a deep inhale, filling her lungs with the fresh, crisp morning air. She could smell the faint traces of last night’s rain, and the gentle breeze ruffling through her silk pajamas made her feel young again. Standing still, tea cup in hand, she watched the first hints of sun crawl over the Chicago skyline. Say what you will about this city, but illuminated in the soft golden glow of the breaking day, it was breathtakingly beautiful. When she had first arrived in Chicago, a wide-eyed, somewhat naive med-school graduate from Kentucky, she had hated it. The buildings had all seemed grey and grotesque, the wind was unforgiving and cold, the people unfriendly. Yet the morning of her first ER shift, she had awoken at 4.45 am and, sitting on the L-Train on her way into the hospital, watched the sun rise over this strange city for the very first time. That had been the moment she fell in love with Chicago. Ever since then, she had made it a priority to watch the daybreak every single day. To be fair, working as an ER-surgeon for 40 years had somewhat automatically allowed her to easily maintain this ritual, as she had to get up before sunrise anyway.  And despite having retired eleven years ago, she hadn’t let go of her routine. Not only did it bring her a sense of peace, but for Mildred, old habits died hard.

After spending so many years with an alarm clock ringing at 4:45 am, she now automatically woke up at that time, all on her own. To Mildred, this was part of her identity: Get up early, start the day. Successful morning, successful day. Once a surgeon, always a surgeon. And yet she found herself overcome by a sense of melancholy as she watched the dark sky slowly be transformed into a canvas of pink and bright orange brushstrokes. For the past 52 years, she had shared these sacred practices with Paul. Her beloved husband, who would stand next to her, drinking his black coffee, squeezing her hand as they would silently watch the sunrise together. She missed him terribly – his deep laugh, his musky smell of leather and dark chocolate, his terrible dad-jokes, and his soft, tender kisses. What she missed most of all, though, was the companionship. Ever since his passing three months ago, she had felt terribly lonely. In the beginning, her daughter had visited her often, just like her friends and former colleagues – all checking in on her, making sure she was doing alright. But as time moved on, so did they. And Mildred understood, they all had their own lives, work, children, and responsibilities that needed tending to. She didn’t blame them in any way. Nonetheless, she felt lonely. It wasn’t even that she felt the need to talk and do anything in particular; she simply craved that feeling of togetherness. That quiet intimacy. The stillness experienced together, the comfortable solidarity of a silent mutual understanding.

With a delicate sigh, Mildred dropped her shoulders and let her eyes drift, taking in the view. Suddenly, something caught her eye. Startled, she flinched, nearly dropping her cup.  Seemingly out of nowhere, a large red cat had appeared, sitting on her balcony’s railing. The cats’ piercing yellow eyes stared at her, not in an unfriendly way, but more so as if she were examining the her. The cat slightly tipped her head to the left, as if to ask are you alright? Mildred felt strangely exposed underneath the cat’s gaze, as if she could read her mind and knew that Mildred had been lost in a somber kind of nostalgia. Then the fiery, red animal leaped from the railing, strutted towards Mildred, and confidently placed herself right next to her. Mildred was stunned. She had never really been an animal person – always far too busy to take care of any pets.  Yet, looking down at the orange ball of fur, proudly sitting beside her left foot and staring out at the city skyline, the woman felt a sense of connection. Befuddled, yet not unsettled, she regarded the animal a few seconds longer. The cat continued looking straight ahead. The former doctor was unsure if the cat was ignoring her or simply entranced by the beauty of the sunrise. The cat’s fur seemed to glow, basked in the warm colors of the rising sun. Accepting this strange, unfamiliar situation, Mildred decided to follow her companion’s example and turned her attention toward the marvelous display of colors spreading across the sky.

Engulfed in a comfortable silence, cat and  woman stood beside each other, sharing the magical moment. Soon the sun had spread across the sky, awaking the city. Birds began to chirp, window shades were opened, and the first pedestrians spilled into the streets. Mildred turned her head toward her visitor, just to find the cat intensely staring up at her. For a few seconds, they considered each other, motionless. Then the cat slowly blinked, once, abruptly turned away from her, and hopped back onto the railing. With one last look at Mildred, the animal gracefully jumped onto her neighbor’s balcony and made her way across the building, effortlessly leaping from one railing to the next. As the woman watched the cat walk away from her, she was filled with a deeply peaceful sensation. Somehow, she knew: tomorrow, the cat would be back.