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I am convinced my cat told me she was dying. Am I crazy?
Excerpts:
"Before I tell you this story, you need to know something about me, which is that I am a brain in a body, activated by a complex series of physical, chemical, and biological processes. I am neither religious nor spiritual; I do not believe in God or heaven or an afterlife. I don’t put stock in parapsychology, telepathy, or clairvoyance. I think that Dr. Doolittle was a great guy, but there’s no way he could talk to the animals.
And yet, despite all these shortcomings, I’m convinced that my cat came to me one night last winter and told me she was dying.
...
Late one night, I was in the living room, reading a book. Joan leapt up onto the sofa with me. (She leapt up onto the sofa, people! Grievously sick cats don’t leap!) I expected her to do what she always did: arrange herself just so on my chest, tuck her wee head under my chin, and purr hard enough to chatter my teeth. This time, though, she arranged and she tucked but she didn’t purr. She just sat there, absolutely still, little wet nose gently pressed against my larynx. “Why won’t you purr for me, Joan?” I asked her. To my own bewilderment, I began weeping. We remained like this for a while, me tearfully pleading with Joan to purr, Joan playing her own private game of Statue.
Then, after some time had passed, Joan sat up and struck a regal pose, worthy of Patience and Fortitude. And she did another thing I’d never seen her do before. She closed her eyes and tilted her head back, back, as if she could feel the sun from another hemisphere on her face. She held this position for a long moment. I heard myself say, “I understand, Joan.” After a few more beats, she hopped on the back of the couch to purr—to purr!—and groom herself, seemingly unconcerned. Meanwhile, I sat with my head in my hands, devastated, because my cat had just told me, as clearly and eloquently as I could imagine, that her death was near. And she was right: Her condition deteriorated rapidly in the weeks to come."
~~~~~~~~~
I believe they "know". Some know well before it happens, some just before it's "time" to cross over The Rainbow Bridge. Looking back, I believe Kitty, the cat I grew up with, let me know a few weeks before she passed. She suddenly grew more insistent with her affections and wanting to sleep with me at night after being a bit aloof before that. I didn't recognize it for what it was at the time, though...
Both my Smudge and my Diva let me know right before they went over the Bridge. Both were in dire physical condition and both let me know at their respective vet's offices. It was the same both times, really...I was struggling with whether it was time and both of them, as if on cue, went from being relatively quiet and stoic to purring and loving on me, both looking at me with trusting, loving, empathetic and knowing eyes all at once as I thought over the decisions. It was as if both of them "knew" what I was going through, that they were letting me know they thought whatever decision I made was the right one for them. That it was okay for me to let them go onto the next part of their journeys. I felt it strongly with both of them, in almost exactly the same way.
Spiritually speaking, I'm a recovering Lutheran agnostic--spiritual but not religious. I don't know if there is a Christian God, but I do believe there is a Force greater than me in the universe somehow. What I felt with each of the cats was a sort of spiritual experience, but very real at the same time. I feel all three "spoke" to me in their own ways. I believe animals are very complex creatures that speak to us in their own ways if we humans are smart enough and observant enough to catch what they're trying to say.
I'm hoping my Jazz will let me know early enough when she's thinking it's about her time to leave this Earthly plane so I can appropriately love on her enough before she goes. If she doesn't, I hope she's able to let me know when it's really Time for her to go over The Bridge. So far she's been pretty clear she's not ready to go; so far she's sprung back from the brink a couple of times now and recovered pretty well, so I trust she'll let me know...
Excerpts:
"Before I tell you this story, you need to know something about me, which is that I am a brain in a body, activated by a complex series of physical, chemical, and biological processes. I am neither religious nor spiritual; I do not believe in God or heaven or an afterlife. I don’t put stock in parapsychology, telepathy, or clairvoyance. I think that Dr. Doolittle was a great guy, but there’s no way he could talk to the animals.
And yet, despite all these shortcomings, I’m convinced that my cat came to me one night last winter and told me she was dying.
...
Late one night, I was in the living room, reading a book. Joan leapt up onto the sofa with me. (She leapt up onto the sofa, people! Grievously sick cats don’t leap!) I expected her to do what she always did: arrange herself just so on my chest, tuck her wee head under my chin, and purr hard enough to chatter my teeth. This time, though, she arranged and she tucked but she didn’t purr. She just sat there, absolutely still, little wet nose gently pressed against my larynx. “Why won’t you purr for me, Joan?” I asked her. To my own bewilderment, I began weeping. We remained like this for a while, me tearfully pleading with Joan to purr, Joan playing her own private game of Statue.
Then, after some time had passed, Joan sat up and struck a regal pose, worthy of Patience and Fortitude. And she did another thing I’d never seen her do before. She closed her eyes and tilted her head back, back, as if she could feel the sun from another hemisphere on her face. She held this position for a long moment. I heard myself say, “I understand, Joan.” After a few more beats, she hopped on the back of the couch to purr—to purr!—and groom herself, seemingly unconcerned. Meanwhile, I sat with my head in my hands, devastated, because my cat had just told me, as clearly and eloquently as I could imagine, that her death was near. And she was right: Her condition deteriorated rapidly in the weeks to come."
~~~~~~~~~
I believe they "know". Some know well before it happens, some just before it's "time" to cross over The Rainbow Bridge. Looking back, I believe Kitty, the cat I grew up with, let me know a few weeks before she passed. She suddenly grew more insistent with her affections and wanting to sleep with me at night after being a bit aloof before that. I didn't recognize it for what it was at the time, though...
Both my Smudge and my Diva let me know right before they went over the Bridge. Both were in dire physical condition and both let me know at their respective vet's offices. It was the same both times, really...I was struggling with whether it was time and both of them, as if on cue, went from being relatively quiet and stoic to purring and loving on me, both looking at me with trusting, loving, empathetic and knowing eyes all at once as I thought over the decisions. It was as if both of them "knew" what I was going through, that they were letting me know they thought whatever decision I made was the right one for them. That it was okay for me to let them go onto the next part of their journeys. I felt it strongly with both of them, in almost exactly the same way.
Spiritually speaking, I'm a recovering Lutheran agnostic--spiritual but not religious. I don't know if there is a Christian God, but I do believe there is a Force greater than me in the universe somehow. What I felt with each of the cats was a sort of spiritual experience, but very real at the same time. I feel all three "spoke" to me in their own ways. I believe animals are very complex creatures that speak to us in their own ways if we humans are smart enough and observant enough to catch what they're trying to say.
I'm hoping my Jazz will let me know early enough when she's thinking it's about her time to leave this Earthly plane so I can appropriately love on her enough before she goes. If she doesn't, I hope she's able to let me know when it's really Time for her to go over The Bridge. So far she's been pretty clear she's not ready to go; so far she's sprung back from the brink a couple of times now and recovered pretty well, so I trust she'll let me know...
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