The last posts have told the stories of my telepathic moments with cats named Lilith, Twinkle and Tigger. After Twinkle and Tigger went their ways I got Bootsie and Blackie as tiny kittens, so small at first that I could hold one in the palm of each hand. Bootsie was Twinkle all over again, neutered male version – fluffy, white, affectionate, dumb as a post but you had to love him. Whatever came up he would charge into it and get mixed up in it somehow.
Blackie, on the other hand, from the very first developed the habit of waiting quietly underneath something while Bootsie got himself dirty or scolded or wet or whatever the outcome was of his latest rampage into the unknown. Bootsie was the kind of cat that curiosity kills, but Blackie was a Witness. The things Bootsie did that worked out well, Blackie would also begin to do. The things that got Bootsie into a mess, Blackie would not imitate. Why should he get his paws dirty? Like Tigger, he was the smart one.
And I communicated with him telepathically from the very first. Bootsie had the same opportunities, but like Twinkle he wasn’t that much of a talker – he was more a kinaesthetic learner. Bootsie didn’t need to talk about things to figure them out, he needed to fall over them and get them stuck in his fur. But Blackie took to telepathy like a natural. As a result I have had casual conversations with him all his life. He has heard me tell the Tigger story, and has his own inscrutable plans about how he will handle it when he finally leaves his own cat-body for the Next Step.
They were all my teachers – four wise souls in furry little bodies, that snuggled with me, and ate my food, and in exchange gave me the gift of sensory awakening as they understood it. Blackie sleeps on the front porch as I write these words.
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