Let me share a little something that is, however crazy, at least true in the way I look at the universe. Jane and I have always said that our kittehs’ having nine lives—and I’m sure doggies have something the same—is their way of keeping up with our long human lifespan. And when a kitteh is getting ready to leave us, somewhere a kitten or cat or other four-foot is getting an extra life, not maybe apparent, but so there, one will.
So when Efanor left us, I showed Jane pix of black kittens I’d found on the interwebs, and most were meh, nice, but—
Then one litter of them just reached out and grabbed her. She looked at two of three. We were and we weren’t going to get one of them, maybe—then not: they’d been promised—and finally got an offer of the third, the youngest; and Jane confessed of the three, that one—that one, that little face in the background was the one she kept thinking of. So we had to pass muster with, I think, the whole extended family of the people that had the kittens; and we agreed, and they agreed, and we drove 50 miles up north. Jane picked up the kitten in question and it was just instant—she wasn’t turning loose of him. Eushu settled in Jane’s lap on the return drive and stayed there, all during a 50 mile drive home, and never cried, which was very odd for such a tiny kitten. His mannerisms are sometimes like Efanor, but oh, now and again he resonates with that Prince of Cats, Elrond, that Jane lost in OKC. So we’re sure we nabbed a couple of spare lives that so needed to come home.
I nearly lost Ysabel this summer, too; and she’s had her off and on crises—dangerous, since Eushu was such a handful—he’d hit her like a ton of furry bricks, all good will, but hard.
To protect Ysabel from Demonkitten, we decided we needed a second kitten. We planned on it. I looked. And then I saw Seishi’s picture on the internet, and I couldn’t stop looking at it. I read the body language in that photo, and I just was hooked. An adult cat. I’d never planned on an adult, let alone an adult tomcat. We went to get him, with Shu in tow, to see if they could possibly get along, because oh, I wanted him. Seishi was a whole year old, and a little more. But strong enough to stand up to Shu’s rowdy antics. To our relief, that part worked. They love each other. And Ysabel gets to have her naps secure in the knowledge she won’t be landed on.
But the spooky part. I’m getting to that. When I got Ysabel, it was because I’d lost my dear old Khym, who passed somewhat before Elrond; and Khym was so special, had such special ways of communicating with me, I declared I wouldn’t get another Persian. I couldn’t. I’d get a little boy kitteh as different as possible, a Siamese, and start over.
Well—I got Ysabel instead—quite by accident. The kitten I’d agreed to buy had gotten sold, right before I arrived to pick him up, and at this point I so needed a kitten, in the worst way. So I took a female I hadn’t planned on, who turned out to have allergies and every strike against her.
Except two. She had me. And Jane. And she was our kitten, our odd little we-don’t-know-how-we-got-her kitten, Who reminds me most of my streetwise Tabby, who was the kitty that started all my kittehs, when I was about 6—independent. Self-willed. I had no idea what her name was.
But on the way home in the car, with this Siamese kitten, who was blond and stripeless, she informed me her name was Ysabel. Had always been Ysabel. With a Y. No reason. No figuring. Peaches, Queen of the Universe, was back. And I have loved her every step of the way, and she does remind me most of long-lost Tabby. She brought up Efanor. She lost him, and nearly pined away. And then, poor old dear, she took on Eushu, tried to teach him manners—and needed help with him.
Well, so we got Seishi. He was shy. A little standoffish. But the hour I got him to trust me, he couldn’t contain himself, just wanting to be held. And I realized suddenly what I’d seen in that photo, in those huge gold eyes. That was Khym’s look. That was absolutely Khym’s look, the one I thought I’d never find the like of again.
I still have Ysabel, thank goodness. I’m lucky. She’s taking care of the household and keeping the boys in line, being the matriarch, She Who Must Be Obeyed. But every morning, once I’ve given Her Furry Grace her brushing, and her kibble, and her fresh water, and her respect as head of household, here’s Sei, sweet and shy, and so wanting to head-butt and be held and petted for a little while, not in Ysabel’s Chair, but in the one I work in.
I think they find us. I don’t know where Sei got his extra life, or if he was born with it. I’m not a superstitious sort, but that’s my Halloween cat story, for October, and that’s what I’ll say about Seishi.
My Halloween cat story is this: My beloved Pepper was very old, and had enjoyed her life, especially after we moved here and she could explore all the great outdoors. We came home from work one day, and I walked to the mailbox. I heard her meowing at me, a few “hello” trills. I went inside and we had dinner, but Pepper had not come to the door demanding to come in as she usually did. We went for a walk and found her, and we could tell that she had died LONG before we found her. There was no way she had physically greeted me at the mailbox but I still know she did somehow. I was very sad but it was also clear that she had not been injured, that it had just been her time to go.
I have always believed that the pets we need will come to us. Most of our dogs and cats have arrived here unexpectedly, mostly by being dropped on our dead-end road. When we’ve needed one, it came. Now, I am unexpectedly becoming a foster parent to a bird. That will be brand new for me.
*crying too much to say anything*
OSG, hugs, megahugs.
Yeah: hugs.
For eight years, I was fortunate to have a wonderful neighbor who became a dear friend. During that time, we helped each other raise our children – human, feline and canine. There was lots of love and laughter. We were always in each other’s houses; my dog and cat would scratch at her door whenever they wanted to visit; her dog and cats were frequently in mine; when we sat outside, my dog would do her “darndest” to snitch Pam’s pack of gum or sneak off with her plastic cup of iced tea; Pam’s cockatiel and I were best buds and regularly whistled our favorite “tune” back and forth. When the day came for my family, as it always does too soon, to put our precious old dog to sleep, we were too upset to call our friend when we got home from the vet’s office. So, the next day I went over to tell her the news. Her face turned pale and she said “But, I heard her…last night…I was already in bed and didn’t want to get up and let her in for a visit, so I just called out to her…” It was ok, I told her, Cuddles just came by to tell her goodbye and to thank her for all her love. A few days later, my friend called me over because because she found that her cockatiel had passed away. Even though Spanky was gone, as I approached the cage, I clearly heard him make the little call that he and I would make back and forth. It was his turn to say goodbye.
We lost our precious cat, Carrots, a month ago. He was everybody’s darling, both of the humans and of the other cats in the house. He was the only cat that always welcomed any new member into the household and was “big brother” to all of them. He drank water with repeated swipes of his paw. He looked just like Puss’N Boots from Shrek. He was so happy anytime someone opened a kitchen drawer – he would stand underneath, looking up, his eyes dilated, and his tail would “bottle-brush” just waiting for us to open and close that drawer, over and over. He loved for me to carry him around so that he could look up at the ceilings in all the rooms. When I would say something to him and wait for a response, I would get it. He didn’t just go around “talking” all the time; it was as though he were trying to carry on a conversation. The thing is, none of our other cats ever did any of these things. Yet, since he’s been gone, one cat has started drinking by the Carrots-approved paw method, one has begun to try to “bottle-brush” her tail, one has begun “conversing” a bit and one now has to be carried around the house on a regular basis, so that he can get a good look at all the ceilings. Around here, we all agree that Carrots is whispering in all of their ears…”Do this…it will make them happier….do that, it will make them feel better.” And you know what? He’s right.
Hugs to OSG and OSGuy, and to all. I agree that we are selected rather than the other way around, for sure, and I think you are also right about the nine lives. Our black kitty is so like my little Winston, and the grey one is like my old Dewey. It is a comfort to find them again.
We lost 2 kitties within 6 months of each other 2 years ago. Lyle was 16 and Ophelia 18, so it was their time. When Lyle died, I said no more male kitties (neutered, of course); but then my daughter’s friend had to give up his kitten because his grandmother was moving in with them and was allergic. Now we have Moonlight who is very much like Lyle. Ophelia, a short-haired calico, died 6 months later and I said 3 kitties are enough (Fluffy, Twilight and Moonlight). A few months after she died, a medium haired calico kitten showed up at our house and INSISTED we let her in. Psyche is very much like Ophelia. Apparently, the universe feels our kitty-steady-state is 4 with one male grey tabby and one calico at all times.
the indigenous teachings ( not all), indicate that very often our spirit guides will incarnate into animals as a way of, literally, being HERE, for us. I suppose there are benefits and advantages to being in a body- at least when attempting to influence and impact others who are ” in a body.” 🙂
That noted, I think it would not be at all uncommon that those guides/totems/higher beings, peek at the broader landscape of the cosmos, and place themselves where we will find them, or they can find us.
Several members of my “family” have been guides, whose temperaments are very unique, and special- as though they have come with some specific “mission.” I had a puppy, briefly ( before catastrophe struck), who seems to have come with the instructions- do not leave her side, or do not let her out of your sight. Note, I raised Flatcoated Retreivers for many years ( hence the lyme disease. hunting dogs, training. Central CT. perfect storm:), Anyway- an intuitive tracked Keio for many months, intuiting litters that this breeder had lined up.
There was no mistake, as quirky as this fellow was- he was mine and he was where he intended to be. This goes right down to the idea of: sleeping in a crate. Even if it was near the bed, in my sight. I tried everything to get him to settle down. I tried letting him exhaust himself and out-waiting him. No success. I tried putting the cage downstairs. He got LOUDER, as if that could have been possible.
I finally gave up, and opened the cage. He came up on the bed, curled up at my side, and slept through the night. Content and Satisfied. I don’t think this was about fear, insecurity or loneliness. This was about a determined mission.
He followed me into the bathroom. every time. Waited while I showered. room to room. to the barn. Yes, he was emotionally attached, but this was a bit more than that. And he was killed by a car, the one time, the one moment, I took my eyes away from him, and vice versa.
I now have a cat, who I swear, has traces of Keio, like a shadow-part(?). Perhaps Keio passed on his “mission,” or some essence of his soul. Like passing a torch. Izzie also follows me, although not as fanatically. And she also sleeps beneath the covers when it is chilly ( seriously, what is all the fur for then? :). And she has a certain “quirkiness,” that I couldn’t pinpoint, but also contains an “echo,” or a resonance. Izzie was an adopted cat, a semi-stray. But she found where she needed to be and is “home,” in a strange way.
All of our animals are special to us. They are powerful teachers, guides and ground us into something deep within our selves: an inner, or higher truth, if you will. Some of them, are a little bit more than that. As strange as that sounds. The Universe holds great love for each of us, and the beings in the universe come to help us, on every level, and in every way. It might be a champion lineage. It might be homeless in a dumpster. Behind those sad lost eyes, could well be the soul of an Angel/spirit who has come to bring love and healing and connection. They come in all shapes and sizes. And often, they do come back. Why would they not return, when their work, their love, is incomplete? They come because they LOVE us. wouldn’t YOU?
One thing I have learned over the years. Always appreciate them. And I tell them I love them. Every day. It reminds them, and it re-minds ME. In Andean terms, it is known as Ayni, Sacred Reciprocity. It informs BOTH of us, that I KNOW what they bring to me. And it assures me, that if something happens before the next time I see them. They know their work, and presence, was fully and heartfully appreciated.
In my life, I view this as Bast, my Lady, making her presence known. When She decides it is time for you to have a cat, well, “resistance is futile.” And it is usually a specific cat.
Animals certainly do say goodbye in their own way. When we were kids, my grandparents had a rat terrier named Peanut. They lived downstairs so Peanut was “our” dog, too. When he was old and very ill, he made that last trip to the vet. Not long afterward, my sister happened to look out the window and saw him, large as life, sitting across the street looking at our house. He rose and walked away. She ran out and followed. When he got to the end of the street, he turned the corner. She came around the corner and of course, he was gone.
My little ones who are gone visit me in dreams, wherein I get to pick them up and hold them again. These dreams are more precious to me than words can say.
Very precious. About a year after he passed away, my bulldog came to me in a dream. He stood next to my bed and I reached down and petted him for the longest time. When I awoke, I could still feel, on the palms of my hands, the texture of his fur. It was such a comfort. I knew, really knew, then, that he was all right.
OSG and OSGuy you have my deepest sympathy {hugs}
In 1985 we adopted two German Shepard mix puppies, litter mates, named Stevie Ray and Toby (a girl Toby). They died within a year of each other at ages 14 and 15, and after Stevie passed in 2001 we went a total of 48 hours before looking at the local shelters for a new pup to fill the empty place in our hearts. We were so lucky to find 7 week old Tucker, a German Shepard/Great Pyrnese mix, and brought him home the next day. We put Stevie’s pillow in the back yard, and after Tucker examined the boundaries, he happily collapsed on the worn bed as if he always belonged there.
With a pup that young, we expected a few weeks of “accidents” before he understood the purpose of going outside. He had one (one!) accident total. He had one night of crying, then found that the kennel was a comfy cave, and would go there to nap without encouragement. He was confident and curious about everything, and had no fear of anything. It was like he already knew how the world worked, as if the spirits of Stevie and Toby were watching over and coaching him. We were so lucky to find him!
I lost my fat, sweet Gussy last fall. She didn’t have, I think, the best life with me. She had belonged to the woman across the hall in my apartment building, but the lady developed allergies and I had just lost the love of my life, Sebastian (a white and tabby) male. The lady had two cats, a beautiful peaches and cream, long haired boy that would find a home quickly and then fat, plain old orange tabby Misha. I took her because I felt she might end up in a shelter. And, I renamed her Gus Gus after the fat little mouse in Disney’s “Cinderella”. The name morphed eventually to Gustella ( Italian for magnificent) and then to Gussy.
She came into the house of Basil. A bold, brash boy kitty used to his best pal, Sebastian, and used to playing and chasing. Unfortunately, as much as I was told Gussy liked to play she only liked to play with humans. It took her two years and a lot of bloody scratches to finally establish herself in the home. But by then she’d developed a mass and it was just a matter of time.
Her last year with me, I hope, was better than the first two. I loved her, she was funny and sweet and just wouldn’t play with Basil, but they tolerated each other. When she passed I was heartbroken.
Then, a few months later, a friend called me. He and his partner have several cats and seem to attract them quite a bit. He called at 7:30 in the morning. J had found a cat. Abandoned. In it’s carrier (please note, the carrier door was open).
She was very fat and they felt she was pregnant. The name Mrs. Peabody came to mind. I told them to take her to the vet and I would cover the cost. If she was healthy and not harboring any diseases that would impact Basil the Brave, I would take her. Oh, and by the way, what does she look like. She’s all grey. Not my favorite. But she’s got green eyes. My favorite.
At the vets it turns out she was a he. Fixed, and the mellowest cat the vet had ever seen. All 20 pounds of him. Great, Basil the Brave is almost 20 pounds. Oh, and he was healthy, except for a tendency to get sebaceous cysts which are icky but that’s about it.
When he came in the house the boys sniffed at each other, then walked away from each other. For three days there was some hissing and spitting, and growling at night. And then it stopped. Within a week they were sitting on the floor less than two feet apart.
The name”Mr. Peabody” didn’t work so he went through a few names until I decided on Nicholas or Nikko for short.
But I have to confess, aside from his size, he is very very much like Gussy and I can’t help but think… has she come back for that better life she could have had with me?
I forgot to mention one thing. With the new cat in the house I decided to gather up Gussy’s bedding and the mission style doll bed she’d loved so much and give them away. Before I could do that Nikko walked over to it, climbed in and settled in. He’s sleeping there now as I type this.