Honey Fox

It's been quite awhile since my last blog.  It seems that so much has happened in my life; mostly internal.  Lots of rediscovering who I am and reconnecting with Life; sending out my particular note or tone and inviting those who resonate with my note to come into my life.  We all have a particular note or tone.  Each of those tones together make up the sound of the Universe.

This post is about one little cat who found my note.  Or, perhaps, I found hers.  In any event, we met and, as always, my life is enriched.

I ran into a woman in my neighborhood who I'd met many years ago.  When we saw each other, Rita hugged me and said, "Just the woman I needed to see!"  I knew it had to do with an animal, probably a cat. It turned out that Rita's neighbor, a lovely woman of 87, had been sent to a nursing home.  She went from being a vibrant, sharp-witted, strong individual to someone who couldn't care for herself any longer.  She had Alzheimer's Disease.  The neighbor had a cat, Honey Fox, who was now living alone in the woman's apartment with Rita going up to see poor Honey once a day to feed her and clean her litter box.  At the time that I met Rita (early July), Honey had been living alone for a little over 3 weeks.   Rita told me that Honey was "difficult."  She hissed and clawed.  Poor Honey Fox!

The family was going to euthanize Honey if a home wasn't found soon.  We had until the end of August at the latest.

Of course, my heart immediately embraced this poor cat and I asked if I could see her.  Rita readily agreed. Before I went up to the apartment, I did a short session with Honey, telling her that she was safe and loved and that we would do everything in our power to help her.

I arrived at the apartment with dried sage leaves, a flower essence remedy and an already established connection to sweet Honey Fox.

I lit the sage leaves to cleanse the atmosphere and sprayed the remedy, which was made up of essences to treat loss and trauma.  I then sat on the floor in the bedroom and allowed Divine Love to flow through me from the crown of head, filling every cell of body.  I then breathed out Divine Love.  I became Divine Love.  Or rather, I remembered that I was Divine Love (as everything and everyone is).  The air in the room vibrated in such a way that I could almost see the vibration as well as feel it.  I, the room, Honey, everything had become one intense vibration.

Afterwards, Rita and I spoke for a few minutes and then we went into the second bedroom.  Rita looked under the bed and this gorgeous Calico cat came running out from under the bed and directly over to me.  She wound herself around my legs and purred and rolled on the floor and nuzzled me over and over again.  I spent about twenty minutes that first time, petting her and scratching her.  She was ecstatic, purring and drooling and asking for more contact.

I wish I had a taken a picture of Rita!  For anyone who doubts telepathic connections, that photo would have said it all!  Rita sat there with her mouth hanging open, an astonished look in her eyes.  Could this be the nasty cat Rita had been feeding for three weeks?

Here is Honey at our first meeting:

What a great cat!  Oh, I love her so.  It's been about two weeks since I met Honey.  Every time I come into the apartment, Honey bounds out of the bedroom and wraps herself around me.  She's been very sweet to Rita as well, greeting her with each visit.  And Rita has been spending more and more time with Honey, reading on the couch with Honey laying by her side.

Yesterday, Rita and I took Honey to the vet.  Before the vet visit, I telepathically sent Honey pictures of her getting into the carrier with no problem.  I also made up a new remedy to help with the vet visit.  Don't you know it?  Honey got right into the carrier with no problem whatsoever!  Again, unfortunately, I didn't have a camera with me to take a picture of Rita's face as Honey walked into the carrier and I closed the door!

Honey got a clean bill of health and I'm thrilled to say that Honey will be going to her new home on Friday night!  During a meditation one morning, a friend's name popped into my head, someone I hadn't spoken to or seen since the winter.  I texted her immediately to ask if she was thinking of getting a cat.  Her answer was, "Not consciously, but I think I'm ready."

My friend met Honey on Tuesday and will be taking her home Friday!  What a wonderful beginning for Honey Fox and her new person.  I'll miss seeing Honey Fox, but I'm sure she's going where she's meant to be going.  I was brought into Honey's life so that she could find her new person and she was brought into my life to validate my chosen path.  My heart is overflowing with gratitude toward this little cat.  People will say that she was lucky I came into her life, but she and I both know who the lucky one is!

I love you, Honey Fox.

Post Misty

It's just about 3 weeks since my girl passed from this life.  I've put her beds away, but I can't throw away the box she loved to sleep in.  I look at it and see her there all curled up - content and peaceful.  My Misty.

The day I got home without her, Duff proceeded to throw his toys around and dash from room to room.  If cats could dance, well… "Have you no sense of decorum?" I asked.  "I'm grieving here.  A little respect, perhaps, for my process.  Is that asking too much?" To his credit, he did sleep on my chest all night that first night - nudging me with his wet nose and giving me little bite kisses.  That went on for hours.  He even slept in Misty's favorite spot for an hour or two.  To someone else, it might have looked like he was thanking me for getting rid of the bane of his existence, but I know he was showing his respect for Misty and comforting me in my grief.

Duff tells me it wasn't that he didn't like Misty.  He liked her alright.  He just hated sharing his space. It felt crowded to him.  It was almost claustrophobic.  During Misty's stay with us, Duff lived mostly in his carrier (which he loves - it's like his private bedroom).  He never went into the bedroom, stayed under the dining room table for about 5 months until he didn't even go into the dining room area any longer.  He felt pushed into a corner.  The thing is, when I came home without Misty, the apartment felt huge to me.  It felt so big, so spacious, almost empty.  And very quiet.  She was a little, unassuming cat, but if her energy made so much of a difference to me, a clumsy human being with limited sensors, what must it have felt like to Duff?

Cats, and all animals, are extraordinarily sensitive to energy, all kinds of energy, any energy, all energy.  And although I was picking up on his feelings, I wasn't able to fully appreciate HOW it felt to him until I came home without her and experienced her absence.  To me it felt like a cavernous emptiness; to Duff it felt like freedom.

Duff acts now as he did before we lived with Misty.  He's everywhere, in my bed, on the bedroom window sill, on the couch, in the kitchen.  He stretches out in the living room on his back with his big beautiful white furry belly exposed.  He is, once again, finicky about his food and very annoying as he howls at 5:30 am for breakfast.  He is king once again, reigning solo.

I've put away Misty's dishes, washed her beds and put them in the closet.  I've framed her pictures and displayed them prominently on my bookcase.  And soon, I suppose, I'll throw her box away, but for now, I have to have something of hers I can look at, something of hers I can touch.  Duff doesn't seem to mind, although every once in awhile, I see him sauntering over to it and smelling it.  Yesterday, he rubbed his face on the edge of it, claiming it as his own.  I guess he's right.  It's time to let go.

Misty

This morning, I opened my eyes and remembered that Misty is gone.  That may be the hardest part of the day, waking up and not knowing what to do.  She used to jump on my bed and lick my nose to wake me.  Or, she'd start grooming my face and hair.  If I opened my eyes and saw her staring at me, I would start to pet her and she would turn her adorable little head and begin licking my fingers and purring.  She had the loudest purr for such a small cat.  And, the deepest meow, a deep, gravelly meow, like a husky-voiced jazz singer.  She was adorable.  Everything about her was adorable.

I closed my eyes again and let the tears roll warmly down my cheeks.  I asked Misty if she could connect with me, and there she was - instantly available to communicate and so very happy.  She is happier than I ever saw her in life, light as air and brimming with joy.  She tells me, "We can't describe what it's like.  There are no words.  It is pure…" Then she stopped.  Love was too well-worn a word.  She waits and then continues, "Pure completeness."  I tell her I want her to stay with me awhile, and she tells me not to forget what she came to teach me.

"Tell me what you came to teach me," I say and she says that she came to teach me acceptance; acceptance of the way things are and acceptance of the decisions we make.  She tells me that we make the best decisions based on the circumstances under which we make them - the best decisions.  She then tells me that she came to show me tolerance.  As gentle as she was, she was strong.  And she stayed her ground, while making some concessions.  She never gave her "Self" away, but she made concessions where necessary, all the time being strong and gentle.  She never lost her center.  She came to teach me gentleness, tolerance and acceptance.  She loved in the face of disdain, anger and intolerance.  She was never the victim.

This was her gift to me.  I feel the lesson deep within my heart.  These are lessons I have been learning all my life.  I see Misty and behind her I see the smiling, compassionate face of my Aunt Annie, who gave me the same gift when I was a child.  That is, to be strong and gentle, to be tolerant and loving in the face of seeming injustice and, sometimes, brutality.  To know that nothing and no one can ever hurt or diminish the authentic Self that lives within, that love is the most powerful energy in the Universe.

I tell Misty that I'm not ready to let her go.  I ask her, please, please to stay awhile longer and she says to me that she will always be with me.

I fell back asleep and I dreamed that Misty materialized for me.  I was able to pet her and have her physical being near me for a few minutes more.  Then she left and I opened my eyes, and the tears fell warmly down my cheeks again.

The thing is that we all want one more day to be with everyone who passes from our lives, just one more day, but even if we are granted one more day, we will want one more day after that.  Is it ever enough time?  Misty tells me that it is.

Empty Box

Today, Thursday, February 24, my sweet, beautiful Misty passed from this life.  She died the same way she lived - unassuming, undemanding and full of grace.

Since Misty began living with us in April 2010, she'd had intestinal problems.  I conferred with two different vets about her disorder and it was decided that the best way to handle the problem was to treat Misty for Inflammatory Bowel Syndrome (IBS), which I did with success.  We stabilized her and she responded well to the treatment.  She gained almost 2 pounds, her fur was soft and luxurious, her eyes bright.  She was playful and delightful and she seemed content.  Sometimes I would find her sleeping in one of the many beds I bought for her, but usually I would find her in a box.

Being an animal communicator, I was having a talk with Misty one day in July about her ailment.  As I questioned her, I could "see" a black mass in her stomach area.  If this had been a client's cat, I would have told the client to have this checked out with a vet, but as I had consulted two vets and she was under the care of my regular vet, I decided not to listen to my intuition.  It's difficult to be objective when communicating with my own animals; so much comes into play, not the least of which is the emotional bond and the need to deny.

But, as I said, the treatment was working and, as long as Misty appeared happy and healthy, I assumed she would be alright. Yesterday, Wednesday, February 23, Misty stopped eating and seemed very low.  She drank some water and immediately threw it up.  As this is not uncommon with IBS, I spoke to my vet's office a couple of times  and we agreed that I should bring Misty in first thing in the morning.  I went to bed at midnight and left Misty sleeping in one of her many beds.

When I woke at 6am, Misty was in the same position as when I left her six hours before.  I went over to her, petted her sweet head and kissed her.  There was no response, not a movement.  I picked her up, felt her heart and listened to her breathing.  Something was very wrong.  I threw on some clothes and took Misty to an emergency hospital.  We got there about 6:45 am.  At 8:00 am, Misty was gone.  It was surmised that Misty had a mass in her stomach or intestines and she was critical.

I was able to spend 30 minutes with Misty, alone, in a quiet, low-lit, comfortable room.  She was wrapped in a soft pink blanket and she lay on a couch with her head on my arm.  I asked the angels, the spirit guides, the Masters and all benevolent beings to be with Misty as she transitioned.  I asked my mother to meet her and guide her Home, the way I had asked my mother some years before to meet and guide my two other beloved cats, Amelia and Mischka.  Peace permeated the room.  Misty appeared to be calm and comfortable.  We said our goodbyes, our "until we meet agains" and I asked the vet to come in to administer the drugs that would ensure that Misty passed without pain.

My beautiful girl left this earth the way that she lived on it.  She was truly a being of dignity, graciousness and tolerance; a gentle creature who asked for nothing, never made a fuss, accepted whatever came her way; an ethereal being whom I will always miss.  She truly is "Misty - full of grace," and I will always be grateful that she allowed me the privilege of being her person at the end of her life.

In Sickness and in Health

I was sick for a week, fever, headache, congestion, exhaustion.  I could barely get out of bed.  If I hadn't had two cat sitting jobs and one wonderful dog-walking job, I would have stayed in bed all week, but I was able to drag myself out and spend time with the lovely animals that were left in my care.  It was good for me to be with the animals.  Otherwise, I would have allowed the old voices in my head convince me that I am a lazy, good-for-nothing slug.

It's amazing that with all my years of uncovering, discovering, recovering, there are times when those negative voices get a hold of me and won't let me go.  Equally amazing that as soon as I started feeling better, everything was right again.  My hope is back, my optimism, my certainty that my life is unfolding divinely and Divinely.  My fear about money that crowded my thinking is gone and I am sure that I live in an abundant Universe and will always have everything I need.

The image of my mother, defeated by life, lying in her bed, unable to find much joy in anything presents itself to me when I'm laid up.  And, then I fear that I will follow her footsteps into despondency, lethargy and poverty.  I'm constantly working to change those voices and pictures and, for the most part, I succeed.  But when I'm sick the way I was last week, unable to do anything for myself, the old patterns emerge.

Thank God for the animals!  As sick as I was, the time I spent with the animals was time out of my head.  Those are the purely unselfish moments, when someone else is more important than the way I feel, when I am able to give myself unconditionally to the care of those gentle beings who ask for nothing more than my  company.  They don't think I'm a lazy, good-for-nothing slug.  Each one greets me at the door with excitement.  "Hey Eileen - so happy you're here! Play with me!  Brush me! Pet me! Walk me! Yay for Eileen!"

As they nuzzle their beautiful furry little heads in my hands, I am sure, once again, that I am on my Divine, God-given path with full support and encouragement from my Higher Guidance.

Litter Box Wars

Macduff came to me at 3 years old, declawed, which is mutilation and needs to be outlawed as it is in the UK and Beverly Hills County.  Aside from a host of psychological and emotional issues stemming from the mutilation of his front paws, Duff sprays when he urinates due to having been neutered late in life.  He'd been neutered at Animal Control, which was his second to last shelter.  Bide-A-Wee rescued him on the day he was to be euthanized and I adopted him the day he came out of isolation at Bide-A-Wee, but that's a story for another day.

So, Macduff goes into the litter box, scratches at the litter, then proceeds to spray the walls and floor.  Of course, the solution was to get a jumbo litter box with a very tight connection between the cover and the actual box so that the spray doesn't leek through.  $200 later, I found the right box.

Enter, Misty…

Misty, a 13 year old rescue, came to live with us in April 2010 (see earlier posts for her story).  Misty is a love, unassuming, unafraid and unwilling to use a covered litter box.  How do I know this?  Every time Misty used the litter box, she'd stick her butt out the opening and pee all over the floor.  I uncovered the litter box and put it n the bathtub, where I could easily clean up any mess.  This worked for about 4 days, after which Duff refused to jump into the bathtub to do his business.  Every time I took the box out of the bathtub to clean it, which I did about 3 times a day, Duff would use the litter box.  Otherwise, he waited. He stopped jumping into the tub.  Period.  End of Story.  "I'm not going in there.  Forget about it."  I understood.  When you declaw cats, it changes the alignment of their spines and, hence, their hips (among other things).  It was uncomfortable for him to have to jump into and out of the tub every time he needed to use the box.

Away went the litter box.  I bought a container from the Container Store with tall sides and back and an opening in the front.  Misty, for some reason, didn't like this box at all and peed alongside the box instead of in it.  Goodbye container.

I finally found a litter box, uncovered, with a tall back.  Misty liked this one.  She used it appropriately and all was well, except when Duff sprayed above the tall back.  After much thought, discussions with hardware salespeople, trips to the Container Store, Internet searches, I found plastic refrigerator shelves - cut them to fit and taped them onto the back of the box, which made the back of the box 2 feet high and easy to clean.  Success!   For a few weeks… until two days ago when Duff decided to spray sideways out of box.

I failed to mention that I had had two litter boxes at one time, but the problems described above were doubled, so why bother with two boxes that don't work, when I could just have one box that doesn't work?

At this moment, we are using the jumbo covered litter box.  I just ordered a dome shaped box with steps leading into the box by a company called Booda.  See photo below.  I'm hopeful that Misty will use the dome shaped box that I will keep on the floor of my linen closet.  If she chooses to spray, she sprays in the box and Duff will use the covered box he's used to using.   Why do I think that might work?  Because hope springs eternal.

More Reiki

Just a quick post…

This morning, Duff was laying on his favorite chair, which is our favorite chair, actually, but he gets to use it more than I do.  He's good about sharing and we spend lots of time first thing in the morning reading (me), purring (him) and getting lots of love (both of us).

As I was seated on the floor in front of him, my palms became hot and I knew Reiki was being called forth.  For those of us who are new to Reiki, the word translates loosely to "universal life force."  From the Japanese, 'rei" meaning spirit and "ki" meaning energy.

I first did Reiki on myself to clear my energy and then proceeded to do Reiki on Duff.  I started with his head, but he shifted his body so that my hands were on his solar plexus chakra and sacral chakra.  He began purring IMMEDIATELY!  He continued to purr louder and louder and stretch out.  Every once in awhile he would lift his head and nuzzle my arm.  He even gave me one quick lick (which is unusual for Duff).  When he'd had enough, he moved again but this time more forcefully so I knew to stop.   He continued purring for about ten minutes after I removed my hands.

Here is he directly after the session.

So contented.  Lovely boy.  I'm so fortunate to have him in my life.