My grandfather had more than his share of close calls with death, but one of the most unforgettable stories is about the time a cat saved his life.
I grew up close to my grandparents on my mom’s side. My grandmother passed away 18 years ago, yet I still think of her almost every day. When I was little, I couldn’t pronounce “Grandma and Grandpa,” so I called them Bunny and Branka. Bunny didn’t stick, but Branka did. And Branka my grandfather was a man who seemed to live nine lives.
It’s impossible to capture everything he survived in just a few pages. In his 90s, he recovered from pneumonia twice, then got hit by a car while riding his scooter across a crosswalk. His pelvis broke in three places, and the skin on his arm peeled back when he hit the ground. The hospital nurse caring for him swore she had never seen anyone, at any age, heal so fast. He was ninety years old at the time. Decades earlier, in the war, he dodged death more than once like the day he skipped a ride in an armored vehicle because of a stomach flu. The vehicle hit a landmine. Everyone inside died, including the man who took his place.
He had been surviving challenges long before that. My grandfather was born in Poland and came to North America at three and a half, traveling by ship with his mother, sister, and brothers. His earliest memory was losing his only toy a small ball that rolled off the deck into the ocean. They had nothing, and that ball was precious. Maybe that’s why he grew up caring little for possessions, always putting people and pets above things.
His childhood was hard. His father was abusive, and his mother, the one gentle soul in his life, died when he was ten. His last words to her were, “It was an honor to have you as a mother.” Left behind with a cruel father who locked away food, he grew up hungry and neglected. At fifteen, he ran away to join the army. Somehow, out of that broken start, he built a new life. In his twenties, he started a business that grew into something that supported dozens of people. He married, had two children, and became a kind, gentle man breaking the cycle of violence he had grown up in.
Fast-forward to his nineties. At 94, he was still living independently in his bungalow with two cats for company. One of them, Emma, was a sweet and quiet calico who had never once bitten him. Until the day she saved him.
That week, he was struggling with sciatica. Walking forward was painful, but he found that backing up with his walker hurt less. One morning, still dark outside, he shuffled backward down the hallway toward what he thought was the bathroom. Only it wasn’t the bathroom. It was the open doorway to the basement stairs.
Just as he was about to step into thin air, Emma sank her teeth into his ankle. He brushed it off as a strange fluke and kept moving. She bit him again, harder, this time on the other leg. That second nip made him stop and look around. Only then did he realize he was one step away from falling down a full flight of stairs.
That old, gentle cat saved his life.
After that, he finally agreed to keep a nightlight on and, eventually, to move into supportive living. It wasn’t easy. He had to say goodbye to his beloved cats, who were rehomed. He moved into his new place during the pandemic, his children only able to leave him at the door.
He lasted less than six months there. His health declined quickly, and when the end came, the doctors told my mom and her siblings to say their goodbyes. My mom spent nearly two hours with him. Though he could no longer speak, right before she left, he opened his eyes and looked at her with full recognition. A few days later, on January 9, 2021, he passed away peacefully, his favorite nurse by his side.
I couldn’t attend the funeral because of Covid, so I wrote him a letter instead. I told him how proud I was of the life he had built from so little, how he managed to stay kind despite everything he had endured, and how much of him I hoped to carry forward.
My grandfather was proof that people can overcome almost anything. He lived with humor, strength, and gentleness, even after a childhood that gave him none of those things. And thanks to Emma, his little calico, he lived to see a few more years with his family.
He taught me we are stronger than we think and he also taught me never to underestimate the love and intuition of our pets.
