Cat Telepathy: Tigger

The last post told about my cat Twinkle’s communications breakthrough, and the good use she made of it. Tigger, who as I have said was a lot more alert mentally than Twinkle, watched all this taking place. I saw him watching Twinkle ask me directly if she could go out, and watching me as I responded. Then one day, some weeks after Twinkle had established this as a family tradition, I heard,

Can I go out, please?

But it was a young man’s voice, quite different from Twinkle, who always sounded like a party girl. I went to the door and Tigger shot between my legs and outside. Not Twinkle.

I thought that was impressive, and went off to work without much more thought about it. But when I got home I lay on the sofa to rest. Tigger came up and sat on my stomach, his furry, orange-striped face looking right into my own. He was usually a bit more standoff-ish, so I thought that was friendly. I should have known he had an agenda. For as soon as he got himself settled, I heard,

Can we talk about other things? I stared into his golden eyes for a moment while I processed that my cat had just asked me a question. He looked away. It was so natural that I responded as I might to any attempt at conversation.

Do you mean besides going out? I wondered.

Yes, besides that.

You see that we can. Did you want to talk about something? He paused a moment, still looking down.

I heard you talking the other day, Matthew, about how people live a lot longer than cats. Is that true?

It occurred to me far too late that I should not have talked about that in front of Tigger. But – I didn’t think it mattered! Now I realized it did. He was upset. I had to help him to a better place with it.

Yes, I admitted reluctantly, cats live fifteen or twenty human years – people maybe four times as much.

Four times -- ?

We live as long as four cats.

Oh! Look, if we can talk – aren’t we – I mean – aren’t we the same?

Yes, we are both souls, but in different bodies.

Why are you in a human body and I am in a cat body?

Have you been wondering about that?

I have. I don’t understand it.

Well, I don’t know how these things are determined. But what I am sure about is that our bodies are temporary.

Temp –uh – what?

They don’t last forever. But we do. We go on. We get other bodies. Or we have no body at all. The body dies, the soul lives on.

And I have a – soul – even though I am in a cat body?

Surely if we can communicate like this, we both must have souls to communicate with.

Oh! Another long pause. What do souls do when they die?

I thought of Spiritualism, the Tibetan Book of the Dead, and modern accounts of the Out-of-Body Experiences (OBEs) of people who have flat-lined or legally died on the operating table, but recovered. 

They leave their body. They can see it lying dead below them. They see darkness all around, but in one direction there is a light. The light is God. The souls go to that Light and by following it they find their way home.

Home?

Where God is.

Oh! Who is God?

The conversation went on for the better part of an hour. I don’t think we resolved the last question too clearly, but Tigger grasped the concept.

From then on he often came and sat on my stomach when I lay on the couch, and at his instigation we would pursue philosophical questions, which seemed to interest him greatly. He also had met My Lady and was deeply impressed by Her, so he was interested in what I was learning about Her.

The day came when he was an old cat, too sick to go on any more. We took him to the vet, who would give him the death shot to end his discomfort. First she gave him an intravenous to revive him so we could say goodbye. Even so, he was pretty logy. Then she connected the poison syringe to the intravenous.

Suddenly I heard Tigger’s voice, familiar to me by now. But it was circling in the air over our heads! My wife was completely dissolved in tears. The vet looked sick and unhappy. There was a dead cat on the table. And this same crazy cat was dancing round and round above our heads, crying out happily,

Matthew! I’m not a cat any more! I’m not in that body! I’m not a cat! What should I do?

He sounded so joyous to be freed of that heavy, hurting, dying cat-body! Gathering my scattered wits (I was pretty upset myself), I thought to him

Do you see a Light anywhere, Tigger? Look all around you.

A pause, then wonderingly, No, I see no light. It is all gray.

Look again! Look harder, Tigger! Look for the Light!

Oh! Yes, it is lighter over there.

God is in the light, Tigger. Go to the Light. Go to God!

And I heard his voice for the last time, saying

I’m going to the Light, Matthew! I’m going to God! Goodbye!

Then my wife and I were both crying, but my tears were tears of joy. I felt profoundly honored at having been allowed to show him the way to God in that enormously important moment. It was such a strong ending for a fine cat. It gave me great strength to help my wife deal with what she could only understand as a tragic loss.