Lora Robertson, from Seattle, Washington, writes:
My cat, Love, who doesn't live with me anymore, is a highly sensitive spirit whose ability to communicate is keen. She would stop me as I rushed up and down the stairs, too busy in my do-ing-ness to speak. She stopped me by reaching out a paw, trying to snag my arm, saying, "Pay attention to me, pay attention to the moment; don't rush so". Fortunately, she stopped me in my path and I was at those times more in tune with myself, and more questioning of my doing as opposed to my being.
Love always waited for me on the cold stone of the entry hall which also opened into the garage. I would find her there patiently waiting whenever I returned, even though she had to sit in the unheated entry hall, and descend a long flight of stairs in order to arrive where I would enter. She understood, "...it's time to go to bed", and would head for the laundry room where she slept, jumping into her basket which set atop the washer, winking a good night. Because my new husband is allergic to cats, Love now lives in Brooklyn with my daughter.
One highlight of my bi-yearly visits to New York, is to have a conversation with Love. She usually burrows into my suitcase when I am there. If she is saying, take me with you, my answer, alas, has to be no. It would break my daughter's heart to give up her good friend Love...and, my husband would spend his in house days sneezing.