Last Updated on April 27, 2014 by James Dziezynski
Before it was the most beautiful room in the world, it was a small home office, fashionable and classically designed. Tasteful artwork adorned the walls. Clean, pastel colors gave off a moody, early-dawn feeling when the sun would shine through the generous window. This window looked out upon a modest neighborhood. In the distant corners of the world it framed, one could see far-off mountain tops. And before it became the most beautiful room in the world, the large, unspecified leafy tree beyond the glass would filter the afternoon light into a mesmerizing array of shadows on the plush, rosy carpet.
This carpet was the first to go. It was torn up to reveal a floor of bland particleboard, which was sanded smooth and painted an inoffensive shade of tan. A disposable, happy throw rug added a bit of color. The modern, sleek furniture was rearranged or removed entirely; the pieces that remained now functioned as a makeshift staircase leading up to the broad, flat desktop. On that desktop, perfectly flush with the generous window, the woman responsible for the most beautiful room in the world arranged blankets and small cat beds that infringed on assorted papers and computer components. A defiant scent of sandalwood emanated from candles that masked the sharp odor of cat urine. The space in the closet that once held a stylish rack of shoes was now occupied by a well-used litter box.
It was without hesitation that the elegant room was transformed into a recovery suite for a small black and white cat named Zeb. At age 18, he had developed a large tumor under his front, right leg. Given his advanced age, the prospect of removing it was risky, but the surgery was done. The cancer had been nipped in the bud and the elderly cat not only recovered, he was rejuvenated. But his household had changed by the addition of a new person who brought along a new cat and a new dog. This, along with the old dog, made for a crowded home. He needed a sanctuary, a place away from playful doggy antics and proud feline challenges. A place like he had known when it was only him and the woman responsible for the most beautiful room in the world.
And so Zeb was given a private suite with a million dollar view. When others infiltrated his space, he wasn’t shy about marking it – though sometimes the messes were genuine accidents. Soon, the others learned to respect his space and given enough time, he integrated his presence throughout the rest of the home. His room, with its whimsical toys, multiple water glasses and food bowls, was referred to as Zeb’s Room, though it still served a secondary function as a home office.
Zeb spent many happy hours in his room. He watched season after season pass from his generous window. He basked in the bright summer sun and napped in the pale winter light. The leafy tree would be barren in the cold months, then bloom into a sea of lush green leaves that would flash into brilliant reds and oranges in the autumn. He would watch the man and the dogs stumble out into the freezing snow from the warm comfort of his bed. And in the deep, dark night he would gaze from his safe perch upon forbidden creatures, coyotes and owls, maybe others, who lurked in the streets when the world had gone to sleep.
It was as if he would remain an old, happy cat forever. Things got even better when the woman responsible for the most beautiful room in the world began to work from home full-time, spending many hours every day with Zeb by her side. It was her being there with him that was the final piece that made this place the most beautiful room in the world. And as he got older, the room became more accessible, more odorous and more beautiful. Even the man began to visit every night, to refill the water cups that Zeb now drank in high volume, and to rub the elderly cat’s old, bony body until Zeb would emit an age-defying, contented purr.
For four more years, Zeb would go about his cat business, scampering down into the grassy yard, mixing in with the family and ending each day in front of the generous window in the beautiful room. At age 22, it was almost forgotten by his family that Zeb’s long life was the sweetest gift that nonetheless must end – just like every glorious season that came and went in the frame of the generous window.
When Zeb’s time came, it was a beautiful spring day. The open window drew in deep, floral scents from blossoming trees. He was tired now, finally. When the woman responsible for the most beautiful room in the world would hold his head in his her hands, his eyes recognized her kindness and to the last, he would emit a faint, contented purr. Zeb was surrounded by his loved ones – even the well-meaning dogs and the proud cat – and safe in the comfort of his warm, familiar bed in front of the generous window, he quietly slipped from this life. His peace was complete.
I will never in my life see such a beautiful room, with its bland wooden floors and mismatched staircase and disheveled cat beds. It was not the design or the fashion that made it beautiful; it was the love that radiated in every detail. It was a manifestation of the unhesitant willingness of the woman responsible for the most beautiful room in the world to put kindness before all and give little Zeb a dignified place to live out his days until the very end.
Today, it is no longer the most beautiful room in the world. The cat beds are gone, the odor is mostly dissipated and plans for elegant hardwood floors are in the works. It will revert to its tasteful, stylish beginnings – as it needs to. But in my mind, it will remain the quiet space where the little black cat would dream his kitty dreams or stare out into the world below. So many times I had reflexively looked to that window from the outside: after hot runs in the summer, after disappointing days in the real world, on blizzard-cold winter nights. There was gentle, sagacious Zeb, looking out the window, his deep green eyes welcoming me back. It was then I knew I was truly home.
I wish Zeb a peaceful journey and I am grateful to have known him. ♥
