Distance makes no nevermind

I’ve long held the belief that everyone and everything is interconnected.  We all share divinity among us; it is the basis for all creation.  I also believe this interconnection is the basis for what we term psychic ability.  What we might view as extraordinary perception is simply one part of the divine whole experiencing or interacting with another part through less commonly used means.  This would include precognition, psychometry, mediumship, telepathy, telekinesis, and of course, animal communication.

As explained in previous posts, I was taught animal communication by my black cat Beauregard and enlarged my skills with my second cat Elphinstone.  I found I also could telepathically communicate with animals I knew who were in my general vicinity.  My experience expanded as I chatted happily with the wildlife visiting my yard and held intriguing and often helpful conversations with friends’ pets.  I found animal communication to be great fun and it enhanced my sense of connection with other beings.  Beauregard, my first teacher, however, knew there was more for me to learn.

In late 2004, Beauregard was ailing with kidney, heart, and lung failure.  We had tried a wide variety of traditional and non-traditional treatments which had slowed down the progression of his illness, but his body was wearing out.  When I asked him what else I might do to assist him, he promptly responded, “Get another cat.”  I resisted his advice for a day or two—getting another cat felt somehow like adultery—but finally reluctantly told him I would respect his request.

It was just a few days before Christmas.  Beauregard guided me to search the Internet, and under his instruction I found myself at the rescue site for purebred cats, http://www.purebredcatrescue.org/.  Scrolling through the pictures of adoptable cats, my attention was riveted by a pair of intense green eyes in a heart-shaped silver grey face. Beau immediately affirmed, “Yes. That’s the one.”

Those gorgeous gooseberry green eyes belonged to a Russian Blue called Monet.  He and his brother Mozart, a blue point Tonkinese (just like my second cat Elphinstone), had been surrendered to the rescue together, at the age of nine or ten years old.  That evening, I excitedly filled out the adoption application and submitted it by email.  The next day, I received a prompt reply from the rescue, indicating that there was an existing application for both Monet and his brother Mozart.  A wonderful couple was interested in adopting both cats together.

I was chagrined.  Had I misunderstood Beau?  He had seemed so very clear in his search instructions.  If I hadn’t misunderstood him, why would he guide me to a cat who was already taken?  I consulted with Beau, who advised me to talk to Monet.  This felt a little bit out of my scope, but I figured what the heck. I had nothing to lose.

I pulled up Monet’s picture on the rescue site and pictured gazing lovingly into those intense green eyes.  I could almost imagine him looking back at me.

“Hi, my name is Anne.  I live in a home with a dad human and two children.  We love cats and like to spoil them, a lot.   We have two: a black cat named Beau and a Tonkinese, who looks like your brother Mozart, named Elph.”

I sent Monet mental images of our human and cat family and as well as mental movies how we interacted with and cared for our felines.

“You know that where you live now is only temporary.  Your foster mom wants to find you a forever home where you will be happy, much loved, and tended.  I’ve asked your foster mother if you can live with me.”

“There also is a nice couple who would like to adopt both you and your brother Mozart.  They will be coming to meet you tomorrow.  I just want you to be happy and healthy in your new home.  If you like the people tomorrow and want to live with them and Mozart, that is okay.  I will understand.  If you choose to live with me, I would only adopt you and not Mozart.”

“I want you to pick your new home, based on what you feel will make you happiest.  If you do not want to live with the couple who will visit you tomorrow, please don’t be friendly toward them.  Then they won’t take you home with them.  But remember, you get to choose.  I just want you to be happy.”

In response I heard, “Okay.  You seem like a really nice lady.  I like your house and your cats and people.  I’ll see what the other people are like tomorrow.  Thank you for talking to me.”  I settled in for the wait.

The following evening I received a call from the foster mom.  The couple had decided to adopt Mozart, but not Monet. He was still up for adoption!  I arranged for our family to meet him the following day—Christmas Eve.  Beau simply smirked from his sickbed.  All was going according to his plan.

We drove to the foster mother’s home full of anticipation.  She had a variety of wonderfully tended foster cats, including some impeccably groomed Persians who looked as big and fluffy as hassocks.  She brought Monet into the kitchen and set him on the table.  I walked over, touched noses with him, and he began to purr.  As I picked him up, he launched himself from the table into my arms and nuzzled and licked my face.  I was in love.

The foster mother was puzzled. “I don’t understand why he is being so friendly today.  He’s usually a bit shy, but yesterday he was downright aloof.  When the couple came to meet him, he sat on the refrigerator with his back to them and wouldn’t even look at them.  I just don’t understand why he is so different today.”

I laughed aloud, hearing the story.  Monet had certainly voted with his feet!

Needless to say, Monet came home with us on Christmas Eve.  I found he was very easy to talk with, but would not answer to his name.  A quick chat revealed he wanted to be called something else.  We spent the next several days trying to figure out what he wanted to be called.  We sorted through a variety of names we thought might be suitable for a Russian Blue—Rasputin, Sasha, Alexi, Kashi, and many others.  Monet simply wasn’t interested in any of them.

In desperation, we tried Caspar.  He cocked one ear, but still would not come.  My step son Zeb, in his childhood wisdom, suggested a slight variant: Jasper.  That worked. When I called it, our green-eyed kitty boy came up purring, immediately . I heard a sweet little voice saying, “What took you so long to figure it out?”

My introduction to Jasper gave me confidence I could talk with animals who I didn’t previously know or could not see.  As time progressed, I began to help friends and coworkers by chatting with their pets.  I found a combination of picture and name to be helpful for me to get my bearings, so to speak.  However, often having the pet’s name or simply a description was enough.

Today I help clients by facilitating communication between them and their animals, using the skills Jasper taught me.  I’m eternally grateful to him. He passed from kidney failure about five and a half years after we adopted him.  He was a sweet, funny, delightful companion and it felt like our time with him was way too short.

However, his legacy lives on.  Every time I help a sick, troubled, or “misbehaving” pet, Jasper is indirectly helping, too.  Time and space are not as important as love, and his love transcends both to keep on giving back to pets and their humans through the skills he taught me.