It was in September of 2000 when I moved out of my parents’ house for good. I had lived away from my parents before when I went to college, first in La Crosse, and then Stevens Point, but each time, I moved back home. I commuted to UW-Stevens Point from my parents’ house for far longer than I had lived near campus. I made sure that the apartment I moved into allowed cats, with the plan that I would adopt a black cat from our local shelter.
I had always loved cats, long before my family ever brought one home. The first cat to enter my life was a ginger tabby named Tiger that my aunt brought home from a horse stable she worked at. We all lived at my grandparents’ house back then. My mom didn’t get married until I was 4 years old. It was shortly after my parents were married that we acquired my first cat, who I got to name Punky. When we looked at the litter of kittens at the farm, I had chosen a black female, but my mom chose a long haired gray and white male cat. My mom only ever wanted male cats, but after visiting with friends who had female cats, I noticed that they were less territorial and generally more content with living exclusively indoors. These were qualities I was looking for, as I figured I might be renting for awhile.
In December of 2000, I decided to adopt a cat when we would go to the local humane society holiday bazaar. My mom always had a preference for long haired cats, and pointed out a long haired black cat to me. Throughout the years, I have noticed that long haired cats of all ages, and kittens of every type, spend less time in shelters before being adopted. Black cats are often overlooked because of superstitious beliefs held by ignorant people. I was drawn to a black American shorthair who was brought in as a stray, and because she had been brought in as a stray, the shelter wouldn’t allow me to take her home that day. I filled out the paperwork, gave the shelter the adoption fee, and visited her everyday until I could bring her home.
I named her Tabea after the character in the fantasy novel, The Spell of the Black Dagger (the name was actually spelled Tabaea in the book). Shelter staff estimated her age as 1 year old, but my vet figured she was between the ages of 1 and 2 years. She was very thin, but despite that, I got this feeling that she may be pregnant. It came to me as a vision in a dream, and my premonition was then confirmed by the veterinarian on the day that I adopted her. He had felt her abdomen and estimated that there were three kittens. He ordered an emergency spay surgery, and was shocked to find out there were actually nine. Given Tabea’s emaciated state, she likely would not have survived if not for performing the surgery right away.
In the spring of 2002, I put a bid on a small bungalow that was within walking distance of my place of work. It was shortly after moving in that I had a dream where I was a cat hunting a mole that got into the house. When I went downstairs to start a load of laundry the following morning, I found a dead mole laying by the dryer. I realized that Tabea had telepathically communicated to me that she had killed this mole. For the rest of her life, there would be no other moles found in the basement, but she was adept at killing mice that got in. The house I bought (and still live in) was built in 1940, and as is the case with many old houses, has a foundation made of limestone and mortar. This necessitates both patching holes with steel wool and caulk, and having a good mouser. Black cats, especially American shorthairs, are known to excel at this.
I had always had visions, but the only living being I have ever had a telepathic bond with is Tabea. When I would spend time away, I would send her images of the things I was seeing. I either had my friend Suzanne or my grandparents look after her when I would be away either on a vacation or for medical reasons.
It is undeniable to me that she is my soul mate and that she will be my spirit guide when this life is done. My favorite episode of Twilight Zone, titled The Hunt, reflects this belief of interspecies friendships giving us our spirit guides. In that episode, a man and his coonhound drown while hunting. As they enter the afterlife, a man they meet along the way says that the hunter can enter the Elysian Fields, but he cannot bring his dog. The man posing as an angelic being is the opposite. It is because of his love for his dog that he does not go and later arrives where they are meant to be.
When you are sensitive, there are always dark entities trying to get to you. I really feel strongly that people who make money off of their psychic abilities are courting demons, but even for someone who refuses to do so, they are there. When Tabea was still alive, I had a dream where someone posing as an angel told me it was wrong to converse with the dead.
I have often had dreams that involve interactions with family members who are deceased. I had a dream where I got to visit a heavenly afterlife and spend time with the great grandmother who predicted I would be born on her birthday. In that dream, I walked up a trail to an outdoor kitchen where my great grandma put me to work prepping coleslaw for a meal for many people in my family. The surroundings were peaceful. I was surrounded by forest, with the sounds of birds. Then she said to me, “Dolly, you better get home now. The others will be along soon enough.” I woke up.
I have visited what could be described as hell and purgatory in dreams as well. I had what I believe to be a hellish near death experience when I had been sick with what seemed to be viral meningitis. Everything looked desolate and charred. There were only ruins, as if there had been a war. There was a feeling of utter hopelessness. Before having that experience, I had been planning on becoming a nun. I won’t say too much more on that, but I do wish to emphasize that finding not only purpose in life, but joy as well, is what influences our afterlife. It is something I have come to deeply believe given the experiences I have had.
Purgatory is more of a feeling than a place. It is a feeling of being lost. I had this dream where I was desperately trying to find my way out of this place. It was when I was staying with my grandma the night we found out that my grandpa was dying. I thought she shouldn’t be alone. It had been a restless night for me. I went to lay on the couch, and McTavish, my grandparents’ cat, was lying next to me. He helped me find my way out of purgatory.
Getting back to the dream with the false angel, it was Tabea that lead me away from this dark entity. I defiantly responded, “No,” and the entity revealed its true form. Tabea, without a doubt, is my spirit guide. She was there to save me as I had once saved her.
I post this entry today as it was seven years ago today that she died. For that last week, I saw her lose interest in just about everything. She was having a hard time jumping and climbing. She had gotten very thin, the result of hyperthyroid, something for which she had been treated for nearly six years. We had spent 17 years together. Every time she would have a bad spell like this, I would wonder if it would be the time I would have to make that decision. Other times when she wasn’t doing well, I was reassured to wake up and see that she had made her way on the bed, and was laying on top of me. Not that morning. I thought I felt her, but she wasn’t there. She was still in the large cuddler bed I placed her in the night before. Her breaths were shallow. I called the vet. It was a Saturday morning, so it was only the vet and his wife, Tabea, my partner Will and I. It was peaceful, and it was definitely her time.
That night, I had a dream that was another glimpse at heaven. This time, I was on a small farm. I knew it was where Tabea was. I felt so empty and so lost after her death. I was sent a message. It was a phrase I couldn’t get out of my head. I entered it into Google and a song popped up by a Dutch band I had never heard of, called The Cats. The song is The Best Years of My Life. When I heard the lyrics, it was so clearly a message from Tabea. There were other messages too. There was the familiar tapping at the window. I thought it had been our other cat, but Will pointed out that she was sleeping. He ran outside, but no one was there. Then there was the “I love you” that came out of Alexa as I was thinking about Tabea. I never prompted the Echo Dot. Will thought it had triggered off of dialogue from a show I was watching, but even if it misinterpreted the words as the device’s log had shown, I have tried saying the same thing and have never gotten that response. It shouldn’t have replied at all to the show because it didn’t hear anything resembling the activation word.
I came to accept that Tabea would still be there when I needed her most. She helped me to communicate with Cicero, the black and white cat I brought home as a kitten when Tabea was seven. When Cicero got very sick with chronic kidney disease, I sometimes got messages from Tabea that steered me toward the right decisions with treatment. I know she was there to welcome Cicero when she passed as well.
I think a lot of people get hung up on what a soulmate should be. People immediately think of this as a romantic partner rather than a friend. I think that everything is connected, but there are some connections that are closer. We often find what we need when we go looking for something else. So many times in my life, that has been the case. I am so blessed for what I have found.
This post has made me cry so much. I'm so grateful she was in your life. I'm so sorry that when we have great love, that means we also have to suffer great loss. It's reassuring to know that she guides you when she can. It's also reassuring to know that intense grief eventually turns into something more meaningful.