Dogs in Heaven: and Other Animals: Extraordinary stories of animals reaching out from the other side

My cat Tigger, a fat ginger tom, was friends with her too, and in one of those bizarre coincidences he has just jumped up onto my desk as I write this. As he looks up at the screen, it’s as if he is showing his approval of his friend’s immortalisation in this book! How do they know?

Was my experience a dream or something more? I’ve always believed that it was a real visit from my dog’s spirit after she passed over to the heaven side of life. It was clear and vivid; the colours were bright and memorable, the experience real and true, and I’ve never forgotten it, even after all these years.

My post bag has yielded many such stories over time. Lots of folk have experienced contact of some sort from their pets once they have crossed over. You may have read about how our human loved ones do this (and you can find out more about this phenomenon in some of my other books), but did you know that animals continue to exist after the death of their physical bodies too? It’s true! The spirit of our pet lingers, as they want to reassure us that they did not die – at least, not in the way we think.

Dogs, cats, horses, hamsters, rabbits: I’ve been sent true-life stories about all of these animals and more. Don’t forget birds! Birds continue after life too. They all appear in vivid dreams from time to time, like the one I had myself, but also make themselves known by bringing familiar scents or sounds to their owners – just popping back to say hello. Sometimes they appear in intense waking visions. That love from our pets continues after death.

We’ve always been a family of pet lovers. Moggy was my first ginger tom cat. He lived with us when I was a teenager, and he would sleep on my bed at night. Cats always understand you, even when no one else does, and a teenager always needs a friend!

Moggy was a real hunter and the house was always full of dead things. One night he caught a live mouse and my sisters rescued it. Many years later they explained how they had shut the mouse in the bathroom and played with it for about an hour. Days later I remember waking up to hear scratching noises in my bedroom. I saw something run across the floor, but when I yelled out for my mum and dad to check, they told me I must be having a nightmare. Apparently, my sisters – who shared the bedroom next door – just looked at each other guiltily. The mouse (as mice do) had escaped from the bathroom, but they had been too frightened to tell anyone. It was now running freely around the house!

I think the worst moment came when I woke up one night to hear crunching on the landing. Moggy had caught a baby rabbit. Even though I was now awake, it was still a horrible nightmare. Moggy growled protectively over his catch as my dad chased him out of the house. Ugh! But cats are cats, and I loved him just the same. I was devastated when he died, and a visit from the other side would have reassured me so much.

When my husband and I were first married we decided to get a cat of our own. A house never seemed like a home without one. I missed my old tom cat and we chose another ginger tom. We called him Charlie. He used to skit about the floor in a bizarre zigzag movement and I nearly tripped over him several times. One day he ran into the path of my poor husband, who fell awkwardly on the floor. Unfortunately, John’s shoe caught Charlie’s back foot and the cat let out a terrible screech. We rushed him to the vet – Charlie had broken his back leg.

I’ll never forget how he looked with that plaster on. His leg had been bandaged straight out and he dragged it behind him. But we needn’t have worried; he coped very well. For six weeks he continued his crazy antics, except that he would clomp his leg on the door frames as he ran through!

Charlie was a bruiser with attitude. He never sat on your lap and you always felt that he stayed around because he had nothing better to do. When he wanted feeding he would come up to us and rub himself up against our legs or purr loudly in my ear. If we didn’t pay attention quickly enough, we had about one whole minute before he would start to get angry about it.

Stage two would involve him patting us with his paw, but the purring would have stopped. He would keep nudging us and walk towards the kitchen as if to say, ‘Come on, then – follow me, you stupid owners!’

God help you if you missed the second signal. Stage three was painful. He would jump up and bite us and then run for it! We did learn never to shout at him, because he always got his own back. Charlie used to hide and wait for the perfect moment. His favourite place was at the bottom of the stairs, and when we walked down he would pounce on us as if we were his prey! Several times he drew blood … It hurt!

When we were first married we owned a cheap pine and canvas sofa. Charlie would run along the underside, clinging onto the canvas. Backwards and forwards he would go, and you had to watch out for your tights. We kept him for many years, and when we moved house I became pregnant. We were worried about how we might cope with a cat and a baby in the house, but sadly Charlie got run over on the main road shortly before I had my first baby. He had been aggressive and mean, but we loved him dearly and again I cried a lot when he died.

One night several months later I woke up to feel the familiar padding of his paws on the bed and I forgot for a moment that he had died. When I sat up in bed I could even see the circular space where he’d been sitting, but of course he was only there in spirit. It was as if he had come to say goodbye. This was my first experience of animal contact from beyond the grave.

Ten years later we were burgled in that house and so we bought a dog. But Brandy kept running away, so we had to get her rehomed by the RSPCA. I cried again – a lot – but buying a dog at this time (a boisterous collie cross) had been a big mistake; it was really stressful. Even though Brandy was still alive I grieved her loss – I recall crying every day for over six weeks after she went. I vowed never to have any more pets, but, you guessed it … several years later we picked up two rescue kittens.

I found the first one in a local pet shop. You could still buy kittens that way then, and I was horrified to see this little black cat, dirty and scruffy-looking, curled up in a small rabbit-sized cage.

My husband had not been keen on getting any more pets, so I secretly arranged for the kitten to be collected while he was at work. I emailed him a picture of a black kitten with the message: ‘I live with you now’ (pretty mean of me, wasn’t it?). I was hoping that once he came home and saw this fluffy bundle he would fall in love with it, and to a certain extent he did! I gave John permission to name the cat (another sneaky technique). He was a long-haired black kitten with a white patch under his chin – John called him DJ, because it looked like he was wearing a dinner jacket. He grew up to be a very attractive cat indeed.

DJ had been living with us for a week before I picked up the second kitten. Portia was a tiny female tabby and she never left my side. She was timid and shy and yet loved attention. If she couldn’t sit on my lap she would curl herself around my shoulders. Both cats were gentle and sweet. DJ was happy to be fussed over and would sit on your lap if you put him there.

Both cats were also happy to be played with. When my two daughters were small they would often dress the cats up in dolls’ clothes and push them around in their pushchairs. The cats would just purr loudly! They were very forgiving and loved the attention.

One day, the girls were following the cats around pretending to be cats themselves. It was a fun game. Georgina, my youngest, was curled up on the sofa next to Portia, who was sleeping, and Charlotte was mimicking DJ, who was bouncing around the furniture. DJ walked through the lounge and into the kitchen with Charlotte following closely behind. DJ jumped onto the kitchen worktop to climb onto the top of the fridge, and Charlotte, making sure that no one could see her, grabbed a kitchen stool and jumped right up behind him. We discovered what she had done just a few seconds later when we heard the almighty crash! Loud screams could be heard from the kitchen.

‘I’ve broken my arm – take me to the hospital!’ she screamed.

And so she had! Kittens often get themselves into trouble. It seemed that children pretending to be kittens did the same thing.

Because we lived on a main road we kept the cats in the house most of the time, but we did have a run made for them in the garden. In the summer we put them outside and they would happily catch flies or just sunbathe on the tiered stand that John had made for them in their run. One day, I popped outside to bring the cats in and the door to the run was open – and worse, the side gate to the garden was also ajar.

We never saw the cats again, even though we searched for six weeks or more. I telephoned everyone I knew and had many people searching the roads and gardens in the area. It was a terrible thing. We walked the entire village and looked under every hedgerow. Our neighbours were having a lot of building work done at the time and often had lorries parked outside their house with the backs open. I liked to think that maybe the cats had climbed in and fallen asleep in the back. I dreamt that when the driver reached his destination the cats ran out and were immediately found by a cat lover who took them in and loved them the way that I did. It was how I coped with their loss for a very long time. The grief was once again unbearable, and as before I vowed never to get another pet.

I guess, like in the childhood film The Incredible Journey where three pets find their way home to their owners after they have moved house, I always hoped mine would find me again. But there was no happy ending to this story. Cats are special and find a place in our hearts, which is hard to replace.

It was many years again before I felt ready to buy another cat, because the heartache of losing these special creatures was too hard to bear. But being without them is almost as bad, so finally I succumbed. I began dreaming of a new kitten entering our lives. It was as if it was psychically ordained somehow. The dream would occur regularly, almost as if the kitten had been born and was waiting for us somewhere. I mentioned it to my husband, who immediately said, ‘No way!’ (and who could blame him); but I was undeterred. I began ringing up various rescue centres, and bought a collar and even some cat food in preparation!

My youngest daughter also had a dream and came in to see me one morning confidently saying, ‘Mum, I’ve seen the cat. It’s a male ginger kitten and it was chasing a butterfly.’ I felt sure she was right.

I begged my husband to take me to the RSPCA and we went together. Nothing felt right, though, and I was gutted when they told us we would be unable to take a kitten home immediately. I just burst into tears! Now, I’m not one to cry – in fact, I NEVER cry – unless, it seems, a pet is involved. They asked us to select a kitten, but in my mind it was too late – if we couldn’t take one home that day, I didn’t want one from them at all. John and the girls went back to the car while I pointed to a female tabby kitten. ‘That one’s fine,’ I said, with no emotion.

I was so embarrassed as the tears just kept falling down my face. All I wanted to do was go home, but I had to stay and fill in all the forms. A couple of people walked in behind me and I tried to hide my face. I knew they were wondering why I was crying, but I guess it was all the frustration of losing my kittens before. The memory just came flooding back and it was too much to handle. I wanted a kitten and I wanted it now.

The next day I telephoned the RSPCA and apologised for my behaviour but told them I had changed my mind. The kitten had been beautiful but she wasn’t our cat. Later that day I had a telephone call from the Cats Protection League. ‘Sorry I’ve taken so long to get back to you, Mrs Newcomb, but I’ve been away on holiday. We have several kittens in your area, including a couple of ginger tomcats, and they are ready now. Would you like to see them?’

I couldn’t believe it! I knew that our cat was among them, so we planned to visit later in the day. We rushed to the local garden centre to pick up a travel basket and placed it ready in the back of the car, then drove straight over to the ‘foster mother’ who was caring for the mother and her four kittens. They were eleven weeks old and neither of the male toms was particularly small. Memories of Charlie and his broken leg came flooding back and I was glad that these were a little bigger; it would be safer, I figured.

One of the male cats had a sore on his neck and was being treated with antibiotics. He was lovely but not ready to be taken away yet. My eldest daughter fell in love with the smallest female kitten and cried that we couldn’t have two. ‘Pick her up,’ I suggested, but the kitten just bit her and scrambled right over her head, scratching her arm on the way up to her basket. My youngest daughter had no such difficulties. She had already seen the ginger tomcat in her dream and just pointed quietly to the kitten sitting calmly in the corner.

‘That’s the one, Mum’, she said.

I picked him up and we carried him into the foster mother’s house where we signed all the forms and handed over our donation. We were able to take him straight home. This was our cat; he’d been shown to us in a dream and we knew it was right! We named him Tigger in the car on the way home, and as I carried him into our house I spotted a butterfly in the garden – the first one of the year – and I recalled my daughter seeing the cat playing with a butterfly in her dream. A strange coincidence, or just another sign? Who could tell?

Tigger gave a new lease of life to our elderly dog Lady. They took about a week to become friends and then happily chased each other around the house. Tigger grew into the most beautiful cat. He always came when we called him and slept in a shopping basket in the kitchen at night with Lady (they had one each!).