Here’s the story.
A number of years ago, at a time when I had ten or eleven indoor rescued cats living in my house, one of them started peeing in a highly inappropriate place, in the living room. After two days of this, I was fed up. I couldn’t catch the culprit in the act.
An animal communicator who lives in California had been highly recommended to me. I called her on Friday and told her what the problem was. She asked me the names of my cats and the hair color and eye color of each of them, as well as their ages and how long they had lived with me. That’s all I told her.
She hung up, contacted the cats telepathically, spoke with each of them, called me back, and told me that it was Miss Polly who’d been peeing. “She’s trying to get your attention,” she said. “Polly is very angry with you because you moved a red furniture.”
“That’s what she told me,” Dr. Ryan said. “She said that you had moved a red furniture and she couldn’t sit on it to watch the birds out the window anymore.”
She was right. I had moved a big red overstuffed chair from my bedroom, where it sat in front of a window, to the middle of the living room. The peeing started the next day, right next to that chair.
I explained that to Dr. Ryan and asked, “Does this mean I can’t move my furniture?”
“No, not at all. You’re the mom. But Polly would appreciate if you would tell her before you move anything. Change scares here, and she’d like to know what’s going to happen.”
“Is she going to stop her peeing?”
“Yes,” Dr. Ryan said, “but she would appreciate it if you could put another chair or a table next to that window so she can watch the birds. And could you move the red chair closer to one of the living room windows?”
“Sure,” I said. “Not a problem.”
“By the way, Polly told me that she would like to have a regular job.”
“A job? For a cat? What kind of job do you give a cat?”
She made soothing noises. “I’m sure you’ll think of something.”
I mailed off a check to her. That night, I set my Zen alarm clock (which has an amazingly quiet little ding) for 6 a.m., since I had to be at an early meeting the following morning. Just before I went to sleep, I turned my head toward Polly, who was, as usual, sleeping next to my pillow, and said, “Polly, would you be sure to wake me up at 6:00 tomorrow morning? I don’t want to sleep through the alarm.”
The next morning I was in that semi-conscious state just before waking. The alarm hadn’t gone off yet. As it clicked, a second or two before the first ding, I felt three little pats on my cheek. I opened an eye. Polly’s head hung close to my face.
“Thank you, Polly,” I said, just as the alarm clock went ding,secretly sure that this was just a coincidence..
The next morning, when I might have slept in a bit, 6:00 came with three little pats on my cheek despite the fact that the alarm clock was not set.
The next morning, same thing. And the next. And the one after that.
When daylight savings time switches, we always have a week or so to adjust, and I’ve finally convinced her that 6:30 is more reasonable that 6:00.
Still, every single morning since then, she has woken me with those three little pats. If I stroke her back a couple of times and mumble “ten more minutes, Polly,” she’ll go away and come back a little later, sort of like a built-in snooze button. I can do that three times. After the 3rd time, though, she puts her little paw directly onto my eyelid. That’s when I get up with no delay.
I asked Dr. Ryan once why I couldn’t hear my own cats.
“It’s because you aren’t really willing to hear everything they might tell you.”
I think she’s right. Maybe that’s why I couldn’t hear what the bees were saying.
BEEattitude for Day # 385:Blessed are those who listen well, for they shall be illuminated.
Happy 11-1-11 !
_______________________________The teeny details:
Coming Soon: VIOLET AS AN AMETHYST, the 6th Biscuit McKee mystery