Every Cat Has A Story: True Stories Exploring the Spiritual Connection of Felines with Their Beloved Owners. Jasmine Kinnear
today as when I first awoke. I felt no fear, only a sense of peace.
The woman appeared middle aged, with delicate features and chestnut hair that was parted in the middle and gathered in a bun. A flowing sash the warm color of blue sage was draped over her shoulders accenting her soft azure gown that billowed as if in a gentle breeze, though the air inside the room remained still and silent. I immediately knew in my heart that this must be an angel. Her smile instantly warmed me through to the depths of my soul as I paused for a moment to take it all in. I then realized that in her hands she was holding the small kitten who I had just held and comforted in its last moments of life not an hour before, the sad, empty shell of which still remained beside me on the bed. This small kitten of powder white innocence, however, was not the sickly, suffering, abandoned animal of a short while ago. Its coat was healthy and shined, blue eyes bright and clear, and it rolled and purred in the woman’s hands in ways it never had the luxury of doing before.
The scene suddenly transformed and I found myself no longer within the confines of my own bedroom, but in the most beautiful garden eyes have ever seen. Birds and insects flew every which way; wonderfully fragrant flowers and trees of all sorts grew in every direction, as lush meadows and blue ponds of water dotted the landscape.
This “Blue Angel” sat watching my wonder and amazement from across a small brook and finally she began to speak. In a voice as soft as a harp’s song she explained that she had been sent to me to answer the questions I had asked in my prayers that night. She told me how every living thing is equally important to God because they were created by his hand. Quoting the Bible she said, “Not a sparrow falls that God does not know about.” She then said to me the thing that most struck my heart: “I am an Angel who has chosen to serve here in the Garden of the Pets by my own request.” In an instant, without further explanation, I understood that every pet that dies goes to their own special garden where a truly special Angel awaits them. Together they will remain with the Angel, caring for, playing with and forever loving them until the day comes to pass that the pet’s one and true human companion comes over to join them. “But what if a pet doesn’t have a special human companion?” I asked, and the Angel simply replied, “Then we stay together here forever,” she said smiling. As the scene began to fade, images surrounding the “Blue Angel” became apparent, images of many kittens and older cats. Some slept soundly; some played in the lush green meadow chasing butterflies and tackling each other; and as any proper cat must do, some groomed lazily in the sunlight. Many of the kittens I could recognize as ones who had touched my life in some way before they died, and in my last image of the “Blue Angel” I saw her place the little white kitten on the ground as her two siblings raced up to pounce excitedly upon their sister.
Since that time I’ve continued to have visits from the “Blue Angel” during my dreams. Often these visits come after the loss of a cat or kitten for which I held a close, personal affection. It’s as if she wants to reassure me that all is well. It’s a busy garden with the “Blue Angel” as I watch happy, healthy, beloved kittens run and play around her. I always awake with a feeling of inner peace knowing these babies will be there waiting for the day when my turn comes to meet with the “Blue Angel” and collect my cherished souls.
Each year there are still sad times that come along with all the good, and sadly there will always be kittens we can’t save and each loss still hits me as hard as the last, but I smile inside knowing the “Blue Angel” awaits them. As I write down these thoughts I know a new kitten season is upon us and that many sick babies and lost souls are just beyond the horizon. Many kittens, like the one who first lead me to the “Blue Angel,” will come into my life as theirs nears the end. I’ve adopted a firm belief that no kitten deserves to ever die alone, never knowing what it is to be loved. So when the end nears I’ll wrap them up warm and safe and sit with them in my rocker. I’ll hold them close and through the tears will softly whisper comforting stories of the Rainbow Bridge, the “Blue Angel” who is waiting for them in the meadow that lies before it, and the wonders that lie beyond. Eventually the end will come and they’ll be laid to rest in my own personal garden of kittens behind our home, which, though quiet and peaceful is nowhere as beautiful as the garden to which their souls have already passed on.
Someday my journey in this life will also end and when given the choice I will proudly don my own robes in shades of blue, collect my kittens from the “Blue Angel” who has devoted her own afterlife to caring for them so that there will be more room for other souls to join her, and in peace become the caretaker of my own Garden of the Pets.
The Blue Angel & Her Garden of Pets
Nick L. Sacco and his wife Alisa live in Raytown, Missouri, and volunteer at the Kansas City Siamese Rescue:
www.kcsiameserescue.org
The painting on the preceding page was executed by artist Dave Marak of Kansas City. A full color rendition of this painting may be viewed at:
www.ccbpublishing.com/blueangel.html
Dave Marak works with Kansas City Animal Control and is a close friend of the Kansas City Siamese Rescue group. Additional examples of Dave Marak’s work may be viewed at:
www.kcsiameserescue.org/davemarak.html
The author may be contacted directly by e-mail at:
My Cat is So Insolent, She Has A Price on Her Head
- by Robin Doll
Cats are cool. They have style, personality, sophistication, and just the right amount of confidence. - Michael Bolton
Where to begin – I got Honey when she was half-grown; she was the last of the litter that a friend’s cat had had. I just told her to drop the little darling off while I was bagging groceries for minimum wage. This was eleven years ago. I came home from my job at Albertson’s and my Mom said, “Robin, there’s a wild cat somewhere in this house. I want you to find it and take care of it. I can’t get within ten feet of the little beast.” I found the “beast” under the spare bed that my brother used to use until he left for college.
She had the most feral, mistrusting eyes I’d ever seen! I thought she was beautiful though. I could see that she had mostly black fur with white feet, a white bib and a splotch of white on her muzzle. I had to grab her when she refused to come out on her own and she slipped through my hands like quicksilver. Luckily I’d closed the door so she, in her fervent desire to escape ran straight into it. Poor kitty. I cradled her in my lap and stroked her little head, cooing that she was “mine forever.” She just looked at me as if to say, “Shut up.”
She got her name after I had moved to Boise and my roommate, Cyndi, heard me calling her Honey all the time. I also called her Baby and Sweetie but Honey seemed to stick and soon everyone called her that.
About a year later I had a so-so evening with my boyfriend and he was already on his way to work when I went outside and found my cat, Honey, crying on the sidewalk, having been shot twice. She was holding up one of her white paws, blood hitting the pavement in penny-sized drops. I looked at her, instantly regretful that I had let her out. She bothered me all day to give her some freedom and I figured it wouldn’t hurt to let her go out and enjoy the sunshine while I had some quality time with Henry. “Well, go on then,” I had said pettishly, holding the screen door open. She looked back at me with her green-yellowy eyes and I almost changed my mind, then she climbed over the fence and was off through the weeds. I spent the day dusting and scrubbing floors, and then Henry came back from visiting his parents. I forgot all about Honey, having let her out for whole days since I acquired her so many years ago. After tons of false alarms when