By Dan Clark

MY MOTHER-IN-LAW DIED A FEW WEEKS AGO. Jan. 10, to be exact. It was a clear, cool, sunny Thursday, an otherwise typical January day in the Bay Area.

Mollie was 96, an amazing age given that she’d been in a terrible auto accident at age 78, a paralyzing event that gave no hint of 18 more years of life.

My wife shepherded her mother through those many years, paying her bills, hiring attendants, shopping for her, cleaning her home, her clothes, in later years her body. In all respects she put Mollie’s needs above her own — caring for Mollie as she had been cared for as a child by Mollie …

We’re all cat people. Mollie had cats, and we’ve had cats, lots of cats over many years. We like all animals, but cats are the true fit and always have been. Dyanne and I became enamored of a breed called Norwegian Forest cats. We got our first from our vet’s Adopt a Cat cage. Moe was a purebred adult male whose owners had to give him up because of an allergic newborn. Great cat — mellow, playful and loved people. We lost him after five years to a heart problem.

Skipper was our second Wegie, as they’re called. Another adult male from a cat rescue organization in San Francisco, another fine cat that we lost after a few short years. So Dyanne decided she wanted a Wegie kitten, a cat she would have for years, a comfort for the inevitable event of her mother’s passing.

We found our latest feline companion, Hotspur, in 2010 when he was 4 months old. Hotspur is a Shakespearean name for an honorable rebel. What a great cat! He fit, and quickly became the best cat we had ever had. Loving, expressive, playful and inquisitive, and yet an old soul — he captured our hearts.

Man plans, and God laughs. Isn’t that the old saying? Last summer, at the age of 2 1/2, Hotsie, as we called him, was diagnosed with lymphoma, a cancer invariably deadly in animals. We were referred to a veterinary oncologist in Walnut Creek, and we embarked on a course of treatment to bring about a remission and give us more time with our much-loved friend.

Biweekly trips to the vet for chemo, a constant search for new foods to tempt his flagging appetite, daily injections at home. He seemed to improve, then would get picky once again at his food bowl.

Tuna, cooked chicken breasts, pork chops — we went through them all. Hotsie even went through a phase where he liked steamed broccoli and saltines. Cats. Go figure!

Mollie became ill over Christmas, and was hospitalized two days later. She was released 11 days later into hospice care, the fine staff at Kaiser determining there was nothing more to be done for her. She passed three days later, on a beautiful afternoon, surrounded by Dyanne and two loving grandchildren.

That night we went to bed following the difficult day. Because of our constant attendance at the hospital and Mollie’s home, our Christmas decorations were still in full array. We had a battery-operated candle on our bedroom window sill, an 8-inch replica that would turn on and flicker when you twisted the faux plastic flame. Dyanne awakened from a troubled sleep in the middle of the night to discover the candle had somehow turned itself on, and it was flickering brightly in the otherwise dark bedroom. It had not been on over the holidays, but chose that night to light up our lives.

A message from Mollie that she had made her journey, and was fine?

The following Saturday, just two days later, we realized that Hotspur was failing. His appetite had gradually disappeared altogether, and he was extremely listless. In our concern over Mollie, we had lost track of his condition.

We got him to the vet, only to be told his abdominal tumor had returned and the remission was over. We made the hard, hard decision to let him go.

Holding him at the end was excruciating, but we owed him that much at least. Too much death, too many tears, for one week …

That night, almost 12 hours after his exit, as I lay tossing and turning from the emotional turmoil of the week, the same candle suddenly turned on again. I was awake when it flickered on, an event that was inexplicable in normal terms. It had never happened before and never since.

We’re not religious people, Dyanne and I, though she points out that we are spiritual. We’re comforted by the belief that Mollie was telling us she was fine, and that Hotsie, in turn, was sending the same message. Of course, Mollie had to help him because, after all, he’s a cat! He lacks the opposable thumbs that would allow him to twist the little bulb.

Dan Clark is president of the board of Benicia Old Town Theatre Group, and his wife, Dyanne Vojvoda, is BOTTG’s publicist.