After Selene – No Regrets

I wrote about my cat companion Selene's passing in poetry, see this link, and in prose on facebook [which I later cross-posted here, see previous post]. So it may not be news to you. Now I'm left with the aftermath – the grieving, the readjusting, new beginnings and explorations, reflections, realisations ... not in nice, neat, linear order, but all jumbled up with each other.  Though I can only write of them one at a time, I expect it will be a disordered, piecemeal kind of a narrative. But perhaps I'm only writing it for me, anyway. I want a record. I don't know if I'll want it later, but I do now. So here is the first bit.

************

After she had gone, and the vet had taken her body away (I am not sentimental about vacated bodies, and didn't want a shrine in the back yard) I eventually thought to pull a card for some commentary or advice from Spirit. But which deck? My beautiful Voyager Tarot, which is very deep and spiritual, which I use for professional readings? My new Everyday Witch Tarot which is sweet and friendly and full of cats? But no, I was drawn to my (also new) Rebel oracle deck. As always, it gave me excellent advice:

I think that's pertinent advice for anyone who has lost someone close. Irrational as it may be, one does start thinking, 'If only I'd done this – or not done that.' It's probably natural and human to do so, but it's a useless enterprise.  We're likely sweating about tiny things, and in any case we can never know what difference they would have made, if any.

The night before Andrew ended up in hospital and never came home, we had a small glass of white wine with our dinner. The way he looked at the glass afterwards, I knew he'd have liked another. But he didn't ask and I didn't offer. We both had in mind the doctor's warning that he must be very sparing with alcohol, as it could exacerbate his condition. Afterwards I often thought, 'Why didn't I let him enjoy one last glass? It wouldn't have made any difference anyway.' But at the time neither of us knew that, and we didn't know he would never drink another. I feel sure he forgot all about it very quickly; and it wasn't as if he was deprived of something to which he was passionately devoted, merely of a passing moment of mild self-indulgence. I might as well have reminded myself of all the kind and caring things I did for him. But no – we love to torture ourselves with petty guilts.

Similarly, I began thinking about the way Selene had sniffed the scent of my ham and my smoked trout, a few days before she went. She was on a strict, medicated diet and could not have anything else. Usually I didn't bring home food she wasn't allowed, but friends had left these in my house, and I wasn't going to waste them, so I ate them in front of her (hurriedly!) and told her sternly she could not have any. Too late I thought that, when I knew her time was up, I could have given her a taste then. What difference could it have made, by then? And it might have given her pleasure. But it didn't even occur to me until afterwards.

The truth is, I don't know what would have happened. She might have vomited it up, as she did her last meal. She might have sniffed it and walked away, as she did her other food those last two days. I don't think she was dwelling on it past the moment! And for sure, once she was dead, she no longer needed physical pleasures anyway. But there I was, torturing myself. The card is right – I should forgive myself instead.

Yes, well said, Rebel Deck! Now, when those little 'what if?' thoughts niggle at me, I tell myself firmly, 'Let that shit go!' And I do. (Repeatedly. But it gets easier and lasts longer.)

Selene Update: Milestones

The beautiful Selene has now been with me a little under four and a half months. She is very happy now that I have made the back yard secure for her, and enjoys spending time there every day. She quite often asks me to go out there with her, and I must admit it is a pleasant place to be. (She would like to go out there at night too, but that is definitely not going to happen.)

She also enjoys the winter sun in the spare room. I put her special rug that came with her on one of the beds, and she gets very cosy. She has established her own routines by now, and likes to sit with me when I'm at the computer. If I'm using the laptop, she'll sit on the chair in front of the desktop, and vice versa. (They're on side-by-side desks, with a printer in between.) She basically likes to hang with me a lot, but when I watch telly at night she usually goes and curls up in the spare room.

Not sharing a bed works fine; I think we both sleep better. But during the day there are times when she reminds me she still needs pats and scratches. I am happy to oblige! I suspect she'll never entirely trust a human, but she has come a long way in trusting me. A few days ago I was able to brush her fur with a brush, which she would once have shied away from. This morning I got brave enough to pick her up for a cuddle in my arms – which I have been longing to do – and she didn't resist but seemed to enjoy it. Well, she was acquiescent anyway, and I made it fairly brief.

As I have recounted before, she is non-vocal and communicates by body language and telepathy. She is highly telepathic! And I am improving. A couple of days ago I said to her out loud, 'I wish you would talk to me with your voice. It would be so much easier for me to understand what you want.' A little later, she asked for some dinner with a loud and clear miaow!!! The rule is that she has dry food available all the time, and other food is not given on demand but when I decide. However, I certainly rewarded that little effort! So far it hasn't happened again, so I might have to repeat the request – but it seems she aims to please.

The Selene Saga Continues

She has been here four months already!

Gradually she has claimed the space.

It is only very recently that she ventured into the bathroom (which, after a cursory inspection, she found boring) and the spare room, where she discovered comfortable beds that get the afternoon sun. The spare room is now definitely part of her domain.

It still wrings my heart a little, to see her where I used to see her beloved predecessors. But after all, they don't need those places any more, and it's good that she can enjoy them now.

Some weeks past she became daring enough to get on my bed, sometimes on her own during the daytime:

more especially at night – like Freya before her, arriving instantaneously upon my retirement. She also took to joining me for any afternoon naps.

It didn't take too long before she was snuggling right up, pressed against my torso or legs for the whole night.

Then we had the latest setback.

There have been a couple of occasions, since the first frenzied attack, that she has scratched me – but only with one brief touch, never again drawing blood. I eventually understood that, as she didn't learn when young to communicate with humans by miaowing and purring, she uses body language such as a warning paw extended, and if that message isn't got, a small tap with extended claw.

Which is what happened when I rolled over in my sleep one night, and evidently flung out an arm, and it was one of the rare occasions when she was sleeping at the top of the bed. I was woken by a scratch on my hand, and came to with a yell of pain and surprise, at which she jumped off the bed and ran out of the room. When I came fully awake, I realised she hadn't actually hurt me; but things were rather cool and stand-offish between us the rest of the day.

That night, when I settled for a read before turning the light out, she came confidently up the bed to me as usual, for a pat and some stroking and a scratch behind the ears, a pleasant routine we had got into before she found her spot for the night.

Only this time, as I reached out to pat her, she suddenly sat back on her haunches and started shadow-boxing with her front paws, not in a playful way but defensive and threatening. I roared in surprise and outrage (though she hadn't touched me) and again she ran from the room.

'Well, that's it,' I thought. 'I can't have her on the bed tonight. I can't trust her not to over-react to my movements.' So I shut the bedroom door. (My former cats would have scratched at it furiously, demanding admittance as their right, but not this one.)

I woke up next morning without all the aches and pains I'd been experiencing on waking for the past couple of weeks. Well, well, well! So no more cat on bed. I now shut my door every night. The first time, she looked next day as if she thought she was in disgrace. I spoke to her kindly to try and reassure her; she seemed to understand, We are working out between us new times for strokings, scratchings and rubbings up. We both know we do need touch, for proper bonding.

And I talk to her. She does her best to talk to me with her expressive eyes.

And Then There Was One, Part 3

Already, kind people are asking if I will get another cat. No I won't, and not because of any feeling that no other cat can possibly replace the one I've lost.  Of course no cat can replace any other; they are all individuals. But I have learned by now that I can love each one with all my heart.

Guinivere and Isolda, Ishtar and Sam, Freya and Levi – beautiful cats all, each with their own unique personality. Guinivere was the smartest of the lot, so intelligent and aware that I used to say she must have been human in her last life or would be in her next. Isolda and Ishtar were gentle, pretty girls who never gave a moment's trouble, but much joy. Sam and Freya were both highly assertive, highly intelligent, and devoted to me despite some power struggles. And Levi was basically cheerful and cruisy but also incredibly sensitive, an intrepid explorer with a learned timidity following some adventures that didn't turn out so well. It seemed he was intent on using up all his nine lives before he finally died!

I realise, now that it is past, how stressful it was looking after him in his final months. He had arthritis for many years, following an adventure with a fence and a torn ligament. Later he developed kidney disease. Though these things were well controlled, I was constantly concerned for his wellbeing and vigilant to his needs. I didn't even realise how much until it abruptly became unnecessary.

And before that, a year ago, I was looking after a sick and dying Freya. And two years prior to that I was carer to my darling husband as he became more and more incapacitated and eventually passed away. In fact, in his case and in Levi's, the extra care started happening some years previously. I was only too happy to do what I could for all my family, and distressed that I couldn't do more than was humanly possible. Now, however, I feel it's time to focus on looking after me.

That of course cuts both ways. You could set your clock by Levi and Freya. Now I have no-one to remind me when it's lunch-time. Looking after me without their help will require some self-discipline!

In any case, I'm 75. I'm getting too old to be certain I could meet a new pet's needs adequately into its own old age.

Then there's the wild life. I would not originally have got a cat after moving to this part of the world. It was only that Levi and Freya's first owner had to leave an abusive relationship fast, and we offered temporary respite to her, her daughter, their puppy and their cats. She found a new home for herself and her daughter but wasn't allowed pets. A friend was glad to take the puppy. By that time we'd had the two young cats for a fortnight. No-one else seemed to want them. 'I've been catless too long,' I said to Andrew. 'You couldn't possibly split them up,' he said. And so, after vowing to have none, I had two for 16 and 17 years respectively. I don't regret a minute of it – and I still don't think a cat is a good idea here.

Not only that, but the Abbott Government has brought in new laws to control the feral cat population. That's a good thing – except that it can also be applied to any domestic pets found outside. But now I no longer have to worry about a cat of mine falling foul of that law, and I am very happy to keep it that way.

I'm about to make a trip interstate for a big family reunion, and hope to make another at xmas. I wasn't easy in my mind about leaving Levi for so long, in his recent state of health, even though the house sitters, whom he was acquainted with, would have looked after him lovingly. Now I am free to travel as I wish, whenever I wish, without a backward glance.

And there are surprises. Yes I am still very much grieving over Levi, very much missing him, despite the fleeting ghostly visits. However, alongside the grief is astonishment at how clean the house is looking – and staying. I vacuum once and the carpet looks pristine for days! Who would have thought? (I have had cats most of my adult life, including the last 17 years. I guess I'd got used to the way it was.)

Finally, I had been racking my brains as to how to stretch my pension, as I wished to retire from doing psychic readings in the market every month. It occurs to me now that the absence of pet food and vet bills is one effective way to stretch the pension!

A dog barks outside. For a moment I come to attention, then realise I no longer have to worry whether Levi's outside and whether that's a cat-chasing dog. Eventually I won't startle like that at a bark any more; the habit will gradually fade. One less thing to worry about.

I eat my lunch. It's 2.30 in the afternoon. That's OK, it won't kill me to be eating late – and eventually my stomach will notice that it needs to remind me about meal times. We are not wired to let ourselves starve forever.

I walk up the passage and am confronted by the empty spot where he used to nestle in the corner. I cry. I remember how unwell he was looking lately, and cry some more but in a different way.

I start packing my suitcase for my trip away, and I'm thankful not to feel torn but free.

And Then There Was One, Part 2

So now I'm alone in the house. Or am I?

When Andrew was alive, and working long hours in his office, at his computer, Levi was in the habit of lying under the desk at his feet.

In the last weeks of his life he began to come and lie at my feet under my desk sometimes, when I was working at my computer. I wouldn't always know he was there. Black cats can be almost invisible in shadowy places. I would sometimes stretch out my foot only to have it encounter a soft body. Then I would instantly move my foot back and apologise – though actually it was always just a gentle touch, not a kick or anything.

On a recent evening, while I was working at my computer, I stretched out my foot and it came up against the familiar soft body. I drew it back immediately as usual, a reflex action by now. Then I was sorry I did, as my mind remembered that Levi had been dead for 24 hours. I reached out cautiously with my foot again, but it was too late – only empty air. And when I looked under the desk, of course there was nothing to be seen that could account for what I'd felt, although I scrutinised the space thoroughly.

Still, I was very glad of that fleeting moment, reminding me he was still around.

Subsequently I walked into the spare room one day, where he used to like to sleep on one of the beds with the sun coming in the window. The bed he favoured in his final weeks had an impression on the top blanket, as if someone had sat there recently – or a cat had lain there. But I had washed that blanket after he died, and replaced it on the bed smooth and straight. I hadn't sat there since, nor rested a hand or knee on it, and no-one else had been in the house in the interim.

Cats often hang around a while after death, or revisit soon: little ghostly presences. Some people see them, some hear familiar murmurs of greeting as they pass a favourite nook. I have experienced both, with other cats. But feeling my foot touch him, seeing that impression in the blanket – those are unique to Levi.

He always was a very special individual!

And Then There Was One

Part 1

If you see my facebook posts, you'll know that I'm the last survivor of the small family my husband and I created with our two cats, who came to us as youngsters of seven months old in July 1998. 

Now, seventeen years later, my cat Levi had a sudden and rapid decline in health, and on Friday last he was put to sleep.  The same thing happened to his sister Freya eleven months previously. And her demise was only two years after my husband departed this plane.

For his last eleven months, Levi and I developed a very intense relationship. He was a cat of very intense feelings altogether. My late husband was the great love of his life, and it took him many long months to come to terms with that loss. Andrew adored him too; he was the favourite cat. That was OK, because Freya was my favourite and I was hers. Oh, don't get me wrong; the love went all ways between all four of us. It's just that there were these preferences, which we all knew and accepted.

After Freya, too, left us, I devoted myself to Levi. She had always been in his life. They had sibling rivalry, jealousy and little spats, but they loved each other dearly too and were good companions. I was afraid he would go into deep sadness at her death, as he had after Andrew's. I missed my little girl – my familiar – but I'd had some months to prepare myself for losing her, since her diagnosis of cancer, its remission and return. After she'd gone, I put all my energy into keeping Levi feeling loved and happy.

She was always the spokesperson for the two of them. When she wasn't there any more, he had to learn to speak up for himself. He had a funny little chirruping miaow which he had hardly used. He learned that with me this was not always sufficient. If I was at the computer working on a piece of writing, he would miaow at me and I would tell him, 'Yes, in a minute,' but sometimes it got to be a long minute. Levi learned that when I was at the computer, he needed to yell!

I had only just remarked that we had evolved new routines and established new habits pertaining only to the two of us, when all at once he was gone too. They seem to be quite good routines and habits which serve me well for myself, so at present I keep them.

If I was too late getting to bed, Levi would come and nag me. (As Freya was my familiar, he was my guardian.) After getting shingles three times this winter – an immune system issue – I conceded he was right and I must take better care of myself. Getting to bed at a decent hour is now incorporated into my routines, after a long life of being a night owl. I even added a brief afternoon nap in the spare room, where he occupied one bed, me the other; and that continues too – after a lifetime in which daytime naps were a great rarity. It's comforting, now, to close my eyes and imagine him still there on the other bed.

I miss my 'supervisor' checking out everything that was going on in the house to make sure it met with his approval.

I miss him coming in through his cat door, straight to wherever I might be, telling me vociferously all about his latest adventures outdoors.

He liked to come and sit beside me on the couch when I watched TV of an evening. This was smooching time – lots of pats, stroking and scratching behind his ears, telling him how beautiful he was and how much I loved him, while he purred and rubbed his nose against me, patted me with his paws, and tried to groom me as if I was another cat. On nights when I didn't watch TV, he would lie near my office chair or under my desk at my feet.

Bedtimes are hard now. So are waking up times. They were major cuddle times. When I started getting ready for bed, he would hang about, watching, until I was actually in bed. I'd be propped up against big pillows, with a cup of cocoa and something to read, and he'd join me on the bed and cuddle up, purring, for more of the same treatment as on the couch. Eventually he'd settle down beside me and go to sleep – until I put the light out.

Occasionally he would stay all night with me, but mostly, after I went to sleep, he'd find a spot elsewhere – by the heater on cold nights, or on my office chair, or even outside somewhere. He'd be back on the bed to help me wake up in the morning, and that was another big cuddle time. 

He liked to butt my forehead with his. I read somewhere that when cats do this they are laying claim to you. So I would do it to him too, telling him (a la Game of Thrones) 'You are mine and I am yours.'

The top step, at the front door, was a favourite spot. He enjoyed lying in the sun there. Even if he was inside the house when I went out, he would be on the top step waiting for me when I drove in, and would come padding down to meet the car. I was always scared he'd get under the wheels, but he never did.

That was not a new thing; it happened when Freya was alive, too. She preferred to enjoy the sun in the back yard, where she had her own special spot on the old blanket covering my mini-trampoline. When I arrived home, she would come from around the side of the house to greet me, picking her way daintily across the lawn while Levi majestically descended the front steps. They"d reach me together. But for the last 11 months it was only Levi. He seemed more intent and purposeful than ever in waiting to welcome me home. 

Simultaneously, now, I see in my mind his black shape waiting, rising and stretching, coming down the steps ... and I see the bare steps, and his absence.

Levi and Me — Making Our Adjustments

The first week without Freya, Levi moped and I cried a lot.

I kept his routines as close as possible to normal, and gave him lots of attention and affection. This helped me too.

After two weeks he was already noticing the upside of being the only cat. 

Some things changed. She was always the spokesperson — like lionesses in the wild, who do the hunting while their males loll about. 

Levi soon learned he needs to speak up for himself now. He has become much more vocal. In general he is becoming more assertive and self-reliant — just as I did after Andrew died.

He has taken over what used to be Freya's favourite spot in the garden, curled up under some bushes.

And he is now the bedtime cat, who comes and says goodnight to me with cuddles when I retire — even if he doesn’t stay there all night. (But he’s always back by morning.)

By the third week it seemed as if the gap of her absence had closed over seamlessly. I made up reasons for this — it was because she didn’t suffer, it was because the timing was right….  Then I took Levi to the vet for a check-up. 

When I brought him home afterwards, he looked for her. Of course — in the past she would have been here to greet him and be told telepathically (and by smell) all about it. He looked all over before he gave up. It made me start crying again.

The good news is that he himself is doing well. Anaemia and kidney disease stable, no deterioration; lungs good; no indication of any stomach cancer, which they once thought might be causing the anaemia. No reason he shouldn’t be around for a long time yet.

Now that we are only two, he is even more demonstrative. He licks and head-butts me like mad. According to something recently aired on facebook, it means he’s claiming me. ‘Yes,’ I tell him, very Game of Thrones: ‘I am yours and you are mine. My lion.’

Farewell to Freya

Her name was Freya, and she left on Friday, Freya's day, to go on to a new life on another plane.

She was diagnosed in May with mammary cancer. In recent weeks her lump softened and shrank, so that the vet thought perhaps it was benign after all. But a few days ago it was suddenly back, and it was large and hard.

She had shown little sign of being ill apart from the tumour, and she was still agile, affectionate, communicative — the most communicative of cats, this one — and had a good appetite. You'd never, at any time, have taken her for the 16 years old which she was. But this week it began to be apparent that she was not entirely comfortable any more, not entirely happy. She slept most of the time, didn't go outside much, and when she did she came back in soon. Her breathing was sometimes audible.

Her ritual was always to wait until I went to bed at night, then arrive on the bed — knowing the exact moment even if she had been outside — and snuggle up for a cuddle, purring. Eventually she would move away and I'd turn over, and we'd go to sleep. The last few days she still did that, but was quicker to move away, and the purr was not so loud. Again, it seemed as if it was hard for her to be comfortable, even under my Reiki hands.

She could have lasted longer, but I didn't want to wait until she was even more uncomfortable. There were just a few days of decline — but I've seen decline before; I know how fast it can be. I knew on Thursday that her time had come, and phoned the vet, but couldn't get in until Friday. By the time of her appointment, I had confirmed my inner knowing via Reiki and Tarot. And when the vet examined her, she confirmed it too. The cancer had spread to Freya's lungs. 

I stayed with her. It was a remarkably quick and peaceful death. I was strong while I had to be, but afterwards collapsed in tears. The vet's nurse gave me a can of Malibu and Cola. I'd never had it before. I bought more on the way home, and tim tams and cashew nuts. Comfort foods. 

My household has shrunk to a very small family now. Just me and my black panther, Freya's brother Levi. As siblings, they loved each other but also had spats. They played together and rested together, and there was sometimes jealousy. Now it's just him and me. He has all my attention at last; but he is already missing his sister. 

'The first two years are the worst,' I was told about widowhood. They were not fun, that's for sure! Freya was my in-house support during that time. There were many supportive friends, but sooner or later I had to come inside and shut the door. Then she was there to help. She grieved for Andrew too, but she also made sure to give me what comfort she could. She was very good at it! (Poor old Levi, always a sensitive soul, was extremely attached to Andrew, and went through terrible grief for many months. I had to look after him, not the other way around.) Now the two year milestone has been reached. The 3rd of September was the second anniversary of Andrew's death. Freya went two days later, on the 5th, her work done.

Freya was my familiar. If I was doing energy work, she would quietly come and add her energy. Sometimes she knew about it ahead of time, and would be waiting ready.  Levi is more my guardian. Although sensitive and clingy, he can be fierce in the face of any threat.

He is clingy now, following me about like the dog I believe him to have been in his last life. And he is subdued; he looks lost. It's a bleak little household we have now, the two of us. Andrew took a lot of warmth and colour when he left. Freya, with her purposeful personality, has taken more.

Levi is a cat who hates change. I'll have to keep everything as close as possible to what he's used to while he adjusts. I'm going to start putting Rescue Remedy in his food for a while; should have thought of it more promptly. Spats they may have had, but she has been his companion all his life. Their telepathic bond was strong. Each would come and tell me if the other needed something.

Perhaps he knew this time was coming soon. He used to sleep elsewhere at night, and come onto the bed first thing in the morning for his cuddle. Just lately he's been spending his nights on the bed with Freya and me. It has become his place too. I'm glad he will keep me company now.

My little girl looked so beautiful when she went to sleep for the last time. As the vet took her away afterwards, the last thing I saw was the white ring around the tip of her tail. She was a faery cat, all tortoiseshell but for that white ring which marked her, I thought, as faery. All her life, right up to and including the last week, she would sometimes race around the house, executing occasional leaps, as if playing chasey with something invisible. I thought she was having fun with her faery friends.

The vet gave me a package with things that might help — a sweet poem, a bit of her fur, a paw print in gold paint, and two small candles. I chose the purple candle to light for her, to accompany the (Pagan) Prayer for the Dead which I say when someone I care about crosses over.  She too is a soul, a beloved soul. I did what I could to help her journey.

I know she is better off where she is than if she had stayed here any longer. I know that Friday was the day she had to go; that it would have been wrong to keep her even a day or two more. 

I told Andrew, on the way to the vet, 'You better be there to meet her!' and I'm sure he would be. 

But I'm doing a lot of crying now.

Dreaming of Cats

I dreamed of losing my black cat, Levi. We were out in a car; he was on my lap, not in a carry-cage, and when we opened the door he jumped and ran. I lost sight of him at once but followed through back lanes the way he went.

I came to a yard behind a wire fence. It was full of cats. Some of them looked sick.  I tried to open the gate. It was wired up, but started to move slowly. Some of the cats surged forward, and I thought I mustn’t let them get out, so I shoved the gate back into place.

An old man came out into the yard. He was fat and wore a robe or an old-fashioned shepherd’s smock. His thin white hair was long and loose, standing out from his head. He let me in warily. I thought I’d found Levi in a back room, but it wasn’t him. Thank goodness! The cat I found had an open wound on its shoulder.

I looked through many rooms. Finally I saw him! ‘Are you sure?’ asked someone who was searching with me. ‘Of course,’ I said. ‘Only Levi has those eyes.’ From those gold eyes flashing green, Levi gave me a knowing, loving look.

He jumped up and ran again, disappeared again, not in fear but with an air of certainty. This time I knew he would head for home. I was concerned because home was a long way from where we were, but I felt sure he would make it. I pictured myself opening the door to him one day, finding him on the step, tired and a bit battered, but happy.


I dreamed of my tortoiseshell cat, Freya. We were curled up together against a wall in an alleyway, very comfortable, half asleep. I wakened to a rainbow lorikeet fluttering right up close to me, almost in my arms. It wouldn’t stop. Freya woke too and looked mildly curious, but I thought her natural instincts would rouse at any minute. I picked up the lorikeet. It let me, and snuggled in. I took it around the corner and released it on to the ground, sending it urgent telepathic messages that cats don’t make good friends for birds, and to stay away from Freya.

I went back to Freya, and realised that the mass of soft grey fur was only partly her. There was also a strange grey dog cuddled up to her. I marvelled that they were so trusting of each other. Evidently we had been sleeping together, all three, and I hadn’t noticed.

The dog was a friendly fellow, medium sized and short nosed, with a curly tail and bushy fur. It was plain that he had decided to adopt us, and that Freya had adopted him right back. I was glad, and reached down to scratch behind his ears.

Cat Update

Well he's home. We are to keep him very quiet for 10 days, confine him to the spare room rather than let him negotiate our split level floors, make sure he doesn't jump, and definitely not let him outside. So the first thing that happened was that he wriggled out of our grasps and flew out the bedroom door before we could close it, down the split level and out through the cat door into the garden. By which time I was in tears. Fortunately he didn't feel like going any further and we carted him back inside. He has now settled down, and has claimed that spare room and ordered Freya out of it!

Some hours later, he is vastly reassured, purring happily after lots of loving, and happy to rest on the soft new rug we got him today.

He is still somewhat uncomfortable though. We have pain-killers and antibiotics for him, and his stitches come out in 10 days. He hasn't got a bandage on his leg, as he was so annoyed by it that the vet decided to take it off again.

So wish us luck with keeping him quiet!

And many thanks to all for the well-wishing, prayers and healing vibes.

(I just now picked up the cat carry case, to put it away. Freya, who was hassling me for more dinner, suddenly slunk away quietly and hid under the furniture. Wherever he’s been, she doesn’t want to go!)

Sad Days

Injury

Our cat Levi needs surgery. We took him to the vet on Saturday after noticing that he was limping.  He has a badly damaged knee with torn ligaments. The vet described it as “an athletic injury” which might have happened after jumping.  It’s a thing that sometimes befalls cats, apparently. She said it’s the sort of thing that could happen to us if we were walking on the beach and put our foot in a hole; the foot gets stuck and the body keeps going. Levi is quite athletic, although he’s a big boy and is eleven and a half years old. He had been particularly active just lately until this happened.

He’s been anaesthetized, x-rayed and put on a drip, and will probably be operated on tomorrow. He is going to have a pin in his knee for eight weeks, after which it will be removed and he should be back to normal movement. (Yes, it’s expensive, but we can pay it off.)

We went to visit him today and give him some petting.  He was ecstatic to see us! I used a Reiki II technique to explain to him what was going on and what would be happening, and that he’d be home soon to take it easy awhile and get lots more petting. He settled down calmly after that.

Death

Last night an email came to tell me and others of the sudden death of Elisabeth Frauendorfer (in Austria, where she lived). Elisabeth was the founder of an advanced healing modality known as MPRUE (Magnussa Phoenix Reiki Universal Energies, the prerequisite for which is that one is already a Reiki Master).

Although we never met in person, Elisabeth was a dear friend and teacher to me and Andrew for a number of years, and to many others.  She kept in touch with her numerous friends and students via online groups as well as personal contact, and encouraged us to share her passion for research into all aspects of healing.

She was a very giving person, and was blessed with many talents including artistic gifts. At present many of us are feeling huge grief. I'm uncontrollably tearful.

All we know is that she died in hospital on November 5th, aged only 52. Her brother sent out a very brief email, which reached one of her students and thereby the rest of us. I imagine her family is still in shock too. I’m not aware of any recent indication of illness, and can only speculate that she may have suffered an accident.

She is irreplaceable. However, those she trained plan to continue her work to the best of our abilities.

Being Evil

(some time)

moar funny pictures

Having a non-serious evening! Just discovered lolcats, courtesy of Pomgirl. Oh yes, and I've been watching DVDs of Buffy. Not that I wish to slay this vampire, lol.