Did a Soulmate Kill My Cat?

There are definitely times when having an anonymous blog is a good thing, where you can be completely crazy and not have to worry about the phone calls the next day. This is one of those times.

So here’s the deal: our cat died today. Or rather, we had to put her down because she was suffering and was probably going to die this weekend anyway, gasping for air in front of the kids. The kids bawled their eyes out when we told them. Our cat was 12, which might seem old but up until very, very recently, she would probably strike most people as closer to 6 or 7. She was spry, playful, healthy, affectionate, and lacking in the typical old fat cat tendencies you might expect. She did not look like a cat who would have roughly 10% lung capacity, caused by god-knows-what.

This downturn happened very suddenly. In fact, the downturn started at precisely the time that I began “sitting” with my soulmate MH. MH, the careful reader will remember, is completely incapacitated with Lyme disease and largely isolated because she can’t bear most forms of visual or auditory stimulus.  Her friends and family now “sit” with her on a schedule, where she’s in her room and we are wherever we are. It seems to help her. 

So here’s where I run off the cliff screaming New Age nonsense. I offerred to sit with her every night while waiting for my son to fall asleep — a 15 minute window that is about the only thing constant in my schedule.  I would sit in his room, with my cat on my lap, and try to connect with her across the country in her room. And I could do that, I could really feel her with me most nights.

And here’s the crazy-ass punchline. Suppose, just suppose, that there is some energy being exchanged between MH and I. My cat is on my lap. My cat picks up some of MH’s energy, which — what? — is infected in some way?  And causes her lungs to slowly fill up with fluid.  I mean, I’m really seriously considering that this might have happened, which should be alarming to me but isn’t. The timing is just too weird. And in this mental contortion, I now have MH leaping up from her bed tomorrow morning, cranking up the music and dancing and running out into the sunshine, because her bad energy transferred out of her and is now resting in a freezer at the animal hospital near my house.

Maybe it’s just the grief talking here. Or maybe it’s — how else can I work something about my dead cat into a blog about sexuality and spiritual growth?

[UPDATE]: I buried my cat this afternoon and tonight I received an email from MH. No, make that two emails now, plus several pictures.  This is from someone who has been sending one- and two-word emails because it’s too physically painful to do more. Literally, I have not gotten more than 8 words total in the past several weeks. But tonight’s emails — well, we’re now up to 64 words.

Coincidence? I don’t know, but that’s not going to stop me from freaking out about it just a little bit.  Is she cured?  No — but how many pets would it take for that? I don’t know, but I think I’m going to hold off on getting another cat for a while.

About David

Prone to musing and to being prone. Father to two, writer, engineer.
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4 Responses to Did a Soulmate Kill My Cat?

  1. alphabetfiend says:

    Holy Ecru!!!


    What did I just tell you?

    Just moments ago, in my candy condo, and then I pop over here and there it is. Wow. This is why I love trickster energy. Everything is turned on its head. All bets are off.

    Plus, isn’t your connection with MH very sensory. Isn’t she the one whose hair you smelled with a sensory fervor? In the car? In the field?

    Hair & fur.

  2. alphabetfiend says:

    Have been thinking about hair & fur for days.. “and the fur and the innocence turned to hair and contentment”… Just quoted that song in a post a few days ago and now here it is comimg up again.


  3. gammaword says:

    Wow. That is an amazing pairing in this context (the hair and the fur)! Wow. Your mythos mind rocks.

    But guess what? You want to talk about turned on its head? That part of my post about how I imagine what effect this has on MH, her dancing around and whatnot? This afternoon I buried my cat in the back yard. And I just now received an email from MH. Up until tonight, I’ve received maybe 4 emails from her over the course of the last several weeks, totalling *not more than 8 words* because of her condition — you know, “hug,” “call mom,” “x” and stuff like that. Tonight’s email? 56 words! FIFTY-SIX WORDS!!


    Holy crap!

  4. alphabetfiend says:

    OK…wanna talk about new age nuttiness? I just popped around to find the hair-scent MH post b/c something about it had me curious… wasn’t sure where I’d read it, did a search… and it was your LAST POST and in the same post you talk about the cat in your lap ritual. It was a metaphor and it worked but… maybe there was some synapses firing and some superstrings being tugged. It’s all there though, in your most recent post: MH and her perfumed hair, the cat in the chair. Of course it’a a daily ritual and obviously you’ve been thinking about MH alot lately. But for a man in the crossroads all things are probably more than the are. Also I can’t get over having just told you “You probably have a lot of trickster energy in your life. Be on the lookout cause no doubt blue-baby Krishna is lurking about!” Or something to that effect. And then I pop over here and this story is staring at me. It’s such a trickster story which really is why I’m not out to convert anyone. There’s an infinity of deities to allign with and easier paths. A trickster would steal a cat to energize a soulmate and do it with such speed and strangeness that you can’t help but reel with wonder and talk crazy-talk. Mess-making for change, the trickster’s domain. I don’t think it’s new agey, I think it’s sly and monkeywrench punk rock. The trickster loves a good mind screw and the “crazy” that ensues. Subtlety and sanity don’t shake things up enough. One more thing: you talked (also in your last post) about settling as sleep, choosing ease & safety over passion and difficulty and that had my fox fur up. As a fan of tricksters and a fledgling fox, well, that’s just asking for trouble. That’s just exactly the kind of thought a fox would squat on to take a crap. It’s not that I judge, I know it seems so, it’s just that I don’t think it ever works. I don’t think we’re made for it as animals who are more than animals. So now I am wondering, crossroads-man, if maybe that dispassionate self is meeting his end?
    I’m impressed by the timing of this, all of this, even our “meeting” and the information exchanged in barely any time at all. I should also confess that I too have an illness and am no stranger to the odd magic of sick. Didn’t I even mention Mindell to you? That is really wierd. It’s like I told you all these things before reading this post that I would have said afterwards. Tell MH, if she’s able, to read Amy Tan’s memoir. Amy Tan has Lyme disease. Or you read it “to/for” her.

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