Heart to Heart

I was becoming more concerned about his long absences, but talking to your own animals isn’t always easy. I thought I could use my new skill to keep tabs on him, but he had other plans.

On one of his absent days I reached out to ask him, ‘Where are you?’

He replied, ‘On important cat business.’

‘What do you mean, “important cat business”? Where are you?’ I said.

‘None of your business,’ he replied, completely self-assured.

After that I tried to connect with him on a visual level to look out of his eyes to establish where he was. He blocked the connection. He simply wouldn’t let me in.

The extended absences carried on for another week and I continued to try and find out what he was up to, but the answer was always the same: ‘I’m on important cat business.’ When he returned he wasn’t asking for food in his usual demanding way and I became suspicious he was dining elsewhere. The biggest giveaway was the tell-tale scent – he kept coming home smelling of another woman’s perfume!

‘I know you’re moonlighting with another woman,’ I said to him. ‘I can smell her perfume on you.’

Texas just carried on as though we were talking about the weather. He wasn’t fussed.

My suspicions were justified one day when I received a call from a soft-voiced woman. ‘Hello, I’ve just got your number from your cat’s tag. He’s ginger?’ she said.

‘Yes, that’s him,’ I confirmed.

‘I’ve been seeing him around here a lot lately and wondered whether you knew he was here.’

‘No, I didn’t know,’ I said. ‘I knew he was going somewhere and I’ve been trying to find out where it was. Is he with you now?’

‘He was a minute ago. I’ll just go back outside and have a look.’ She disappeared from the phone and a moment later was back. ‘He’s right outside,’ she said.

‘I’ll come straight over,’ I said, and she told me her street and house number.

I raced round to meet her, and wouldn’t you know it, there was Texas looking like the cat that had got the cream. I picked him up and then the lady invited me inside to tell me what she’d noticed. She revealed she’d been seeing Texas going in and out of her neighbour’s large ground-floor window. As a cat lover with a feline companion of her own, she knew the unwritten rule – you don’t feed other people’s cats – and she decided to bring this to the attention of her neighbour, who in return became suspiciously non-committal. I thanked her for kindly giving me the heads up and I carried Texas home.

When he went missing the next evening I went straight round to the street and called him. I walked up and down the houses and eventually found him in a garden close to the house with the large window. I carried him home again and fed him. ‘Please come home at night,’ I said. He smiled, purred and ate his tuna supper.

The next evening it happened again and I went calling for him as loudly as is possible at 11 o’clock at night without waking up the whole street. He wasn’t homeless, he wasn’t a stray, I wasn’t on holiday. In fact, he was the most loved cat on the planet – in my opinion – albeit an unashamedly passionate food hunter, preferring the easy to catch version that came in a dish.

My cries must have been heard, as the window remained shut for the following few days and Texas fell back into his normal routine and was now home at night.

This led me to understand that we’re only in the position of guardians to animals. We don’t own them and it’s certainly not a good idea to expect them to do things against their will. We can only communicate with them as far as they will let us. They will always have their own agenda and their own free will.

This wasn’t the first time Texas had gone on an adventure. In fact, moonlighting was in his blood. Ever since he’d run out of his cage at Battersea Dogs’ Home and pressed his stunning golden fur against my legs, I’d been charmed. But I wasn’t the only one. He’s continued to charm women ever since, and now he’s nine, so that’s quite a bit of charming.

The first to join his harem were two young career women who lived in the ground-floor flat two doors down. Texas soon worked out they had fallen for him and he came up with an idea that would make his life easier. He would sit on the window ledge at the front of their flat and call out to them. Within moments the front door would open and he’d jump down and walk inside, bold and fearless. He’d walk down their hallway until he reached their back door. Standing still, he’d give another command to open the back door, and when it was open he’d walk straight out. All he had to do now was shimmy through to the next garden and climb up the rear fire escape and he’d be in his cat flap. That short cut saved him at least 10 minutes of ‘pointless’ effort going all the way down the street, avoiding dogs, feet and cars, cutting through the busy alley and finally making his way carefully across other cats’ gardens until he eventually reached mine. Soon he got wise that it could work the other way too. He’d call out at their back door, walk down the hall and then wait for them to open the front door. He had them twisted round his ivory-white whiskers.

It was quite a long time before one of the girls admitted what Texas was up to. He’d kept his little secret for at least six months. I was told he’d occasionally divert from his usual plan and go into one of their bedrooms to lie on their bed, where, of course, he’d receive much love and admiration. This was the first time he came home smelling of another woman’s perfume; he was only 12 months old.

I liked and trusted these women and thought Texas’s short cut was a stroke of genius, so I laughed along with them and Texas continued to use their home as his short cut and rest stop for the next three years until we moved from the area.

At a different time I saw another example of Texas’ free will. I was standing in the kitchen of my first-floor flat, hands in the washing-up bowl, looking out of the window to the first-floor flat opposite, when I had to look twice. I couldn’t believe my eyes. There was Texas curled up asleep on the bed. It was summer and their back door was open, so he’d just wandered up their fire escape and found himself somewhere soft to sleep. I banged on the window, calling his name. He looked up from his pillow and chose to ignore me.

It appeared he felt he owned all the flats around us, because another time I saw him on the sofa of the downstairs flat. They’d left one of their windows open. There now numbered four flats in his portfolio.

So what I’ve learned over the years is that Texas is a free spirit. Animals are masters in their own right and you can’t keep tabs on them just because you can talk to them. It’s not possible to control them or tell them what to do. Texas is his own cat and he makes no apology for that. It’s one of the qualities I absolutely love about him.

I have also come to terms with the necessity to swallow my pride and admit I’m not the only woman in his life, although I console myself knowing our hearts are as one. He also now adores Jennie, who comes and looks after him when I’m away. He’s always waiting for her on the doorstep as her car pulls up, whatever time of day it is, and he curls up on her lap while she watches TV. He liked the little old lady down the road when she was buying in cat food especially for him, even though it had been a long time since she’d lived with a cat. He loved the two career women in the ground-floor flat who understood their hallway was also his right of way and they were his gatekeepers. And he loved having more than one soft place to rest his weary ginger head.

What I’ve also realized is that cats are clever and able to manipulate things to their own advantage. For example, instead of using animal communication to do something I wanted, Texas soon used it to get me to do something he wanted. It was the middle of the night when it happened and I was sound asleep. Then I woke, bolt upright. I had heard Texas call out to me in my dream. I have hearing that’s finely tuned to his tone of meow, just as a mother can distinguish between the cries of her child and other children. Then I received an image in my mind and I knew he was at the front door. Like a zombie, still half asleep, I immediately knew what he wanted and stumbled down the stairs. I unlocked the door and pulled it open. In trotted Texas, a little late for his mutually agreed curfew. ‘Purrutt,’ he said in thanks, as he pushed himself into my legs.

When I communicate with cats I know I have to be extra careful, because they often only say what they want you to hear. They sometimes withhold the truth altogether, whereas I find dogs are much more honest and generally say it how it is. They are much more reliable that way.

Texas hasn’t stopped courting women, of any age. The three-year-old Spanish girl next door is absolutely crazy about him. She always stops, points to him through the eye-level gap in my front gate and tells her mother, ‘Meow meow, meow meow,’ as her face lights up and she grins from ear to ear. Texas sits soaking up the admiration – he adores his fans.

CHAPTER 4 (#ulink_8a019ad1-1b08-55f6-9640-a892fbf563a9)

Finding Conviction (#ulink_8a019ad1-1b08-55f6-9640-a892fbf563a9)

WHAT IF YOU begin to receive information directly from an animal? Maybe you suddenly start to hear your own animals at home. Or you receive a wave of emotional joy when you casually ask your friend’s cat what kind of day she’s having. What do you do?

In the books I’d gathered round me like a comforting blanket, I kept reading the word ‘psychic’, and while this had never been mentioned as the method of animal communication in the workshops I’d attended, it was obviously very relevant. I needed to know what ‘being psychic’ and ‘psychic communication’ involved, and in my search I came across the College of Psychic Studies, so I signed up for the Foundation Programme.

The College of Psychic Studies is located in the trendy and expensive borough of Chelsea and Kensington. It is hidden within a cleverly disguised four-storey Georgian building set within a long terrace of private homes, only a couple of gigantic Tyrannosaurus strides away from the Natural History Museum. It was originally founded in 1884 by a small group of people, including some notable scientists and dignitaries of the clergy, who were there primarily to investigate psychic and mediumistic phenomena, a popular subject even back in the Victorian era.

One of the early founders was Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, a physician who became renowned for his Sherlock Holmes series. In the late 1800s, Sir Arthur joined the Society for Psychical Research (SPR) and carried out experiments with a woman called Mrs Ball. Evidence from these experiments convinced him that telepathy was genuine and he dedicated the next 30 years to further studies and investigations and wrote 14 books on psychic matters, including his most substantial one, The History of Spiritualism.

When I looked at the college brochure, I was drawn to one particular class called ‘Psychic Unfoldment’, led by Avril Price. I’d never heard of her before, but I liked her down-to-earth humour when we spoke over the phone and her class sounded interesting because it covered a huge range of psychic skills, including psychometry, reading auras and mediumship.

I was feeling apprehensive as I walked from the crisp spring air through the dark blue main door and into the building. I tried to look relaxed as I waited for the receptionist to point me in the right direction. Behind me on the walls were large gold-framed oil paintings with the names of respected psychic scholars, scientists and clergy dating back over the last century. I liked the fact that I was walking amongst history – it somehow felt more authentic.

Up until this point I had thought all psychics were like Mystic Meg – gypsy types with a crystal ball – and I felt distrustful of this age-worn image. Even now when I receive small flyers through my letterbox from psychics advertising they can resolve my emotional life or eliminate past-life karma, I throw them straight into the recycling bin.

So when I met Avril, my psychic teacher, I was gobsmacked. Gone was the kooky, mystical fortune-teller with long curling fingernails, gold hoop earrings and crystal ball in tow, and in stepped the Jo Brand equivalent. She was normal and she had that dry, satirical sense of humour on which the English comedienne has made her reputation. I thought she was fabulous!

Over the next eight weeks she led me through the unfolding of my own psychic ability. Crikey! In the beginning I didn’t even know what being ‘grounded’ meant. Though it was a term I’d often heard used at the animal communication workshops, I still thought it was something that would happen to me if I were discovered doing something naughty, just like at school. I felt lucky to have been drawn to Avril from the many teachers at the college. I could connect with her down-to-earth non-threatening approach and the way she made psychic development both fun and accessible. In a world that could be considered scary or fairy-like, I had found someone who was neither.

After this first class Avril let me move straight up to the next level, Psychic Development at Intermediate/Advanced Level. During this second term I wanted to push myself, to go beyond my comfort zone. It was a place of learning after all, so there was no better place to try something new. I signed up for the Platform in Mediumship, where I’d be expected to bring concrete evidence and comfort through from those in the spirit world.

One evening, in front of 150 students and friends of the college packed to the walls, I stood on the platform at the front and prayed the spirit of someone would come through to give me a message to pass on to someone in the audience. I was quietly hoping an animal would come through, but in fact it was a man who contacted me from the Other Side with a message for his grandson. All through the delivery of the message, my legs were quaking. I was certain everyone could see how nervous and scared I felt. Despite this, the message was clear and the grandson understood it and was grateful to hear from his grandfather. I can now admit this was one of the most nerve-wracking experiences of my life, but it did help me enormously. I feel the only way we can gain confidence is by pushing ourselves further than is comfortable. In this way we can grow.

At about the same time I also trained in Reiki, the energy system created by Mikao Usui for self-healing, self-development and spiritual development. I began with Reiki level 1. I was hungry for what Reiki was giving me: deep relaxation and a sense of bliss. About three months later, I trained to practitioner level 2. I found making this connection with energy was a good foundation for subtler energy work with animals. It also made me more receptive as a conduit for energy and I developed more sensitivity in my hands. Reiki attunements restore connections to higher energies, the Source, God – call it whichever is most comfortable for you. Personally, I find the word ‘God’ tricky, as I had a completely non-religious upbringing and still consider myself non-religious, but I do now believe in a higher source or divine energy which we can all draw on for answers and support.

I definitely feel Reiki has enhanced my work and it has also taught me the importance of breath and of intention. Breath can help increase healing and, as the saying goes, ‘Where intention goes, energy flows.’ As an animal communicator I now work with the breath and my intention – using my breath to calm my nervous system and relax my body, and my intention to remain neutral and work for the highest good of the animal.

After several months of spiritual development, in the summer I felt drawn to attend another animal communication workshop.

The Animals’ Ambassador

The first time I saw Amelia Kinkade she was gliding past me in a long, sparkling, deep purple cloak and high heels. She was as American as a lady from Los Angeles could be; she had that look: slim, toned, tanned and highly polished, with cascading curly blonde hair. She was beautiful.

At that time Amelia was a professional animal communicator with over a decade’s experience. She was teaching all over the world and had her first book in the shops, Straight from the Horse’s Mouth. It was the best book on animal communication I’d ever read – and I’d read a few. The stories were incredible, hilarious and deeply moving. After I’d read it and discovered Amelia was coming to teach in England, I had another intuitive feeling – I knew I wanted to meet her. That is how in the summer of 2005 I came to be sitting in the dining room of ‘Brightlife’, a beautiful Georgian mansion dedicated to enlightenment and rejuvenation, on the TT motorcycle-racing Isle of Man.