Cat Telepath: Blackie

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.

Cat Telepathy: Lilith

Aloha once more, gentle readers!

The next few posts will relate examples of the use of sensory awakening for animal contact.

It is natural that I should turn to cat stories for this, having been close to cats all my life. I don’t suppose cats are particularly telepathic – there are plenty of books in print and out of it about telepathy with horses, dogs, and other domesticated species, as well as moments of contact in the wild. But we did not have horses, or dogs or accessible wilderness when I was growing up, because we were in the city. So I got used to cats.

Still, it was only when I was an adult with a cat of my own that the first real event happened. I was home alone. Notice that this means there were no other people in the apartment.  But I did have a cat, named Lilith. I was not as alone as I thought.

It was the end of a hard day’s work, after dinner, and I had been resting in my favorite armchair for some time. I had placed a glass of water on the floor next to the armchair, where if I reached down gently my hand would come straight to the glass so I could lift it up and have a drink. Without realizing it, I was in the state of passive attention in which telepathic contact moments occur.

My tabby cat Lilith strolled around from behind me, gazing fixedly at my glass of water. When she came in front of me so we could see each other’s faces, I heard a woman’s voice in my mind, interrupting my thoughts like one radio transmission cutting across another. It said,

There’s a bug in your water dish.

She stared at me solemnly and walked on. I picked up my water glass carefully.

A Daddy Longlegs spider had fallen into the water. I took glass, water and spider to the door and set it free unharmed. I did not try to contact it, but the simple piece of advice from Lilith had given me the eerie feeling that if I addressed the spider mentally, I might get an answer.

What was apparently Lilith’s voice had referred to my water glass as a “water dish” – the word that I used for her drinking vessels, but not my own. And while Lilith had plainly seen the spider in the water as she walked past it before addressing me, there was no way for me to know there was a spider in my water glass until, at Lilith’s suggestion, I picked the glass up and looked.

It was a vivid piece of verifiable paranormal contact, happening in such an off-hand (or off-paw) way that it would have been easy to miss it completely.