The Cat that Came Back from the Other Side

When a stranger asked me as a medium and psychic to contact her beloved cat who had died, I said I didn’t know if I could.  I’ve given hundreds of readings, and sometimes (but not always) an angel appears and sometimes (but not always) the spirit of someone who has died — but I’d never attempted such a thing with an animal, and especially with a cat, independent and self-reliant as they are. I was amazed and shocked at what happened, and what the cat had to say.

But before I tell what happened, let me explain what a “reading” is.  It’s called a psychic, intuitive or even an “angel” “reading,” for the information comes mysteriously and with great clarity from the spiritual dimension, and truly I believe through angels. It takes about an hour and covers your soul journey or purpose in life, and then your work, health and relationships, including those of others near to you.  I won’t go into how I learnt I had this gift, or how the Universe — God, angels– led me, against my will to a practice that I equated with Gypsy cons and charlatans.  But the more I used this gift in service to others, both in person and by phone, the more I came to trust these mysterious, often amazing, illuminations.

I ask for your birthday and all the names you have ever had, then go into prayer, praying for you and myself and for the insights to bring you what you need to hear, and suddenly I find myself speaking — spoken through, as it were.  I am surrounded by light,  and often when I stop after 15 or 20 minutes I’m told that all their questions were answered. The rest of the hour wanders over the person’s life, concerns and dreams.

Back to Cynthia:  When she came in person for her reading, she brought some of her cat’s toys for me to touch. I prayed. I opened the portals to the other world, and it took only a few moments before I noticed a cat slinking in the corners of the room — a spiritual cat, seen not with the physical eyes but with a kind of “knowing.”

He crept behind the furniture, hiding under it, shy, as happens with cautious cats, then sat licking his shoulder and watching his grief-stricken companion, who by then was weeping. The rest of the reading is private, except that from the anguish of her tears, she burst out, “Why? Why did you leave me?”

They say that the question “Why” is always directed at God.  In this case, the cat stepped back, surprised, and I, translating him– became mute, inarticulate. Struggling to express himself, came a wordless sensing:  “Understand.”

And then, to my surprise the single answer, “IS.”

“Is,” I repeated faithfully, while he stared at me with narrowed eyes.

“Is?” asked Cynthia in confusion.

“Not why,” I managed to stutter. “Is.”

Could any response be more philosophical, or theologically sound? This soft, comforting cat now pointing her toward the next chapter of her life.  I was struck by the pragmatic reality of his response. Later, he added that he would not be jealous if she got another cat.

The reading continued for another 40 minutes and for much of it her cat remained, sitting apart, observing, and just loving her.

And when it was over and  I had came back into my own body, when I closed the door as she left, I marvelled again at how mute I’d grown in translating this wordless animal, and marvelled also at the wisdom of a cat.

“Why?”  she’d asked.

“IS, ” came the wise response:  the centerpiece of wISe.

I felt humbled. I felt I’d just understood at some deep inchoate level the spiritual meaning of our lives.


(If you love cats, don’t forget my prize-winning novel LOVE, ALBA, the story of a love affair told by a cat.)

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