A Cat's Tale: Love and Courage

Samantha taught me to listen to animals. I was new on a conscious spiritual path. I went through periods when my whole body pulsed and pounded with the energy. Whenever I was most overwhelmed, Sam would come and curl up on my heart and purr. She was always nearby when I needed her, loving me.

When she was about a year and a half old, I moved. For the first time in her life she had full access to the outside world. She thought it was heaven and would disappear for hours at a time. She always came home for meals though.

When she had a bladder infectio
I didn’t notice it at first because she went outside instead of in a litter box. Then one day she had peed in the middle of the bed. I faithfully gave her the little pills the vet prescribed, with some resistance on her part. Yet the infection didn’t seem to get better. Back to the vet.

He gave me stronger pills, yet she still did not improve. Finally, I read a book about a human who rescued a cat. The author said that her gift to the cat was the rescue, while the cat’s gift was helping her to see her patterns with her father. Aha! My mother was arriving soon. Could this be it? I sat down with Sam and explained that I would deal with my feelings about Mom, and she could focus on being a cat and getting well. Immediately she went to the bathroom sink and started drinking water and the bladder infection disappeared.

The next time we moved, I had a choice between two shared houses, so I took Sam with me to each place. In the first one, she sat down in the middle of the living room and howled. I had never seen her exhibit such behavior, though the potential housemates did not believe me when I said so. I could see it in their eyes.

I was apprehensive heading toward the second house. There was a group of six people seated in a circle in the living room. I put Sam down. She calmly investigated the entire first floor. When she finished, she crawled up on a lap and purred.

We moved in the next day.

It was in that house that we first had a discussion about her hunting. One day I heard a funny scratching sound behind my desk. I investigated and found a scared little mouse, whom I promptly released outdoors. “Sam,” I said “You cannot bring mice inside.”

There were no more mice. The next thing was a dead bird deposited on my grandmother’s hand-braided rug. I knew it was time for another conversation with Sam. “Sam,” I said “I know you are bringing me a gift. I know this is in your nature. I

appreciate the sentiment, and I love you too. However, I cannot eat these dead birds. And you have not been eating them. You don’t need to eat them since I feed you well. Please stop killing birds. I will love you just as much. Thank you.”

There were no more birds – at least until the next house. Just once did Sam bring in a bird. It was still alive – flying around my bedroom. Sam and I had another talk. This time I specified no extra beings in the house. And please don’t kill or torture any living thing. So far as I am aware, she never did kill or torture another animal or bird.

When we moved out of the city to an 18 acre parcel, Sam spent most of the first months outdoors in the tall grass. I had to find her to bring her in when it was dark. Sam was the Queen of the house, and she relished the role.

I was adopted by another kitten, Misty, who tried very hard to make friends with Sam. Sam would have none of it, and made clear that she was in charge, though they co-existed quite peacefully and almost became friends. A year later I was given a very large dog, Shama. I talked to Sam about it first, and she said it would be alright. Sam had been my spirit companion, teaching and loving me, guiding me and pushing me toward my destiny. With Shama, Sam felt replaced. She had agreed to this, yet had not realized it would be so painful to let go.

Sam started sleeping in the spare bedroom.

When my housemate moved, there was a big shuffle. I moved to a temporary trailer, and a month later moved a mobile home onto the property for myself and my companions. Sam, now eighteen years old with joints deformed with arthritis, did not like it at all. There were stairs to negotiate and she didn't have her own room anymore. Even the bedroom was up a few steps. I looked at her and knew she was thinking about dying and was scared. For six months I did my best for her, knowing that she was unhappy, and that I really could not give her what she wanted.

One day, my friend and landlord mentioned that Sam had been coming back into the big house through the cat door and they had been pampering her. Since Fran didn't mind, I didn't think much more about it. Then Sam spent the night there – in "her" bedroom. The next night, Sam was back in my home, and actually curled up in her old favorite spot near my head.

I woke up crying, having had a very unusual dream. In the dream I was left behind, while my beloved person moved away with her dog and the other cat. I caught up with her, and then she moved again and I could not find her. I felt despair, terror, loneliness and anger. I realized that Sam had "sent" me a dream, crying out all her feelings. I felt guilty and anguished. I told her how sorry I was to have caused her so much pain. And that day I pampered her.

The following night, Sam went out the cat door. This was amazing, since it was about a foot off the ground, and Sam found it a challenge even to walk on level ground. The first time, I brought her back inside. The second time I moved the stool from in front of the cat door so she couldn't (I thought) get out. Finally, the third time, I went outside to talk to her and realized she would not stop. I said goodbye and went back inside to cry myself to sleep. The next afte
oon, I felt her leave her body behind.

I have asked myself many questions. Could I have made the transitions easier for her? Could I have loved her better? There are no answers. What I do know is that Samantha taught me more about true love and courageous choices than any being I have ever known – two or four legged.