Honorary Initiate of the Feline Mysteries
She flew through the air and landed in my heart
Amelia Maestra November 1, 2000 - November 5, 2020
It was barely spring, 2004. I said goodbye to my dog — my best friend, Sky — only a few days before when Amelia scaled the six-foot fence, jumped down into my garden, and immediately began rubbing against my legs in that way cats do when they like you. I reached down and petted her silvery coat and experienced the softest fur ever. She purred loud and with a cute little squeak. Rolling in the soil and wiggly at my feet, she planted the seeds to transform this dog-loving-cat reluctant into an honorary initiate of the Feline mysteries.
Day after day, as I worked in my garden and grieved the loss of Sky, Amelia arrived. She greeted me the same way by rubbing against my legs and receiving my scruffs and snuggles. She cozied up in the lounge chair on the deck and made herself at home while I raked and moved stones. Early mornings, she waited for me outside my window sill. Other times, I only had to think about her and I soon heard her scale the fence and land in the garden.
One rainy evening, I told her she could come inside only if she did so because she wanted to get out of the rain and hang out with me in the house: I made it clear there would be no lure of food in the deal. I opened up the dog door and let her decide. Moments later, she popped through the dog door, wet with rain, and with a live mouse in her mouth. I guess you can say she brought her own food and was willing to share it with me.
I kept the dog door open so that she could come and go when she wanted. And, she did. She often arrived late at night, and she would jump on to the bed, lay on my chest, and purr. Night after night, she purred into my heart.
She was a master healer who made healing rounds in the neighborhood: a neighbor going through cancer treatment, for example, another neighbor who had been released from prison. Many others. Amelia was one of keen intellect, deep sensitivity, and the presence of a Zen master. She was Maestra.
Her people told me they named her after Amelia Earhart because “she loved to fly through the air.” It was true, as demonstrated by her practice of scaling six-foot fences in a single bound.
Almost exactly one year after Amelia’s first visit, her people called to tell me that their two-year old was deathly allergic to cats. “Since Amelia already spends so much time with you, will you adopt her? And, her sister too? We don’t want to separate them.”
“Amelia has a sister?!”
Amelia had already adopted me that first time she landed in my garden. How could I say no?
April 22, 2005 was the big day: Amelia and her sweet — but reluctant — sister, Betty, moved in.
Night after night, year after year, Amelia continued to jump on to the bed, lay on my chest, and purr. She did this until only a couple of years ago when arthritis made it difficult. Then, she curled up against my stomach and purred.
Betty left us four years ago on Christmas Eve. She filled my life with stories to share another time. Last Thursday, Amelia joined her sister. Amelia lived to the wise age of 20. That’s the equivalent of 132 human years, so says Google. With help of Dr. Stephanie from Journey Home Vet, Amelia passed in my arms while I talked to her. Perhaps my voice provided the same healing effect that she provided me with her purring. I hope so.
The Big Bopper
Betty Bopper
November 1, 2000 - December 24, 2016
Unlike Amelia, Betty didn’t fly through the air to land in my heart. In fact, she had no interest in being in my garden and definitely wasn’t about to make herself at home in the lounge chair on the deck. Betty was a fierce and loyal guardian of home and family, and her heart belonged to the home and family of the two-year old, the newborn, and the parents who brought her to my front door April 22, 2005.
They carried her, along with her little leopard- spotted fleece bed, a few cushy toys, and her favorite food, into my house and set her on the floor in my living room. Betty, toffee brown and tiger striped, sat there wide eyed while her people coo’d in loud sing-song voices: “Here, Betty. It’s okay. Betty. Betty, do you like your new home? Betty, catch your toy!” Betty didn’t move nor did she blink. The number one (and most important) rule of the Feline mysteries was revealed to me: don’t speak to a cat like you speak to a dog.
Her people said their goodbyes, and, trying hard to block their emotions, they hurried out the door. I was relieved: the loud sing-song, dog-talk was a little too much for me too. But, now what?
With the warm, spring evening in my favor, I decided to take Betty to the back yard and sit with her in the grass. Amelia observed from the lounge chair on the deck. Sitting near Betty but not too close, I silently communicated with her. I used gentle thoughts to let her know she was welcome here; I would take good care of her; we would take good care of each other; all three of us.
Amelia and Betty’s family lived just over the fence and across the alley. As Betty and I sat in the grass that evening, giggles and laughter traveled over the fence. Betty heard her family playing in their yard, and she strutted towards the fence calling out to them with meows. I quietly picked her up, snuggled her, and brought her back to the middle of the yard. With silent thoughts, I re-assured her. Again, she heard the giggles and laughter, and again she strutted to the fence meowing with each step. I gently brought her back. To and fro we went.
We stayed together in the grass until dark. I then brought her into my house, placed her on my bed, and repeated silent thoughts of communication. “You’re safe here.” “This is your home.” “I’ll take care of you.” Suddenly, Betty stared directly into my eyes. She shook her head, meowed, and curled up in my lap. Her purring filled the room; her presence filled my heart. She decided she was home, and she never looked back.
Betty reigned the earth. Body round and legs short, she strutted through the garden and never attempted to scale the fence like her sister. She moved slowly and deliberately, and snuggled on my lap like a cozy, heavy blanket. And, she loved to give kisses by nibbling at my chin and purring.
While Amelia traveled the neighborhood to heal others, Betty was the fierce and loyal protector of the home front. She chased strays from the yard and ghosts from the house. At least, it seemed like ghosts when every so often she stared at something I couldn’t see and then she chased after it. Amelia, the Healer and Betty, the Ghostbuster.
When Amelia meowed, barely an audible squeak came out. Betty, however, expressed herself, and she adjusted her volume appropriately for the situation. She whispered her meow into my ear in the early mornings when I was still asleep to tell me it was time for breakfast. She belted out friendly, gregarious greetings in the evenings when I arrived home from work. She chattered through the window at birds, squirrels, and grasshoppers.
Amelia and Betty snuggled as easily as they fought. Betty was quick to bop a paw at Amelia, which helped earn her the name Bopper. She also liked to climb into my lap while I played guitar. She bopped up and down on my leg as I tapped my foot in time. She was Betty Bopper.
Winter Solstice 2016, as the light of the sun began its return journey, Betty’s light began to fade after several months of declining health. I stayed by her side for the next three days and nights. I barely ate and didn’t sleep. I was also struggling with severe anemia and related pain. In the wee early hours of Christmas Eve, I stepped out of the room, exhausted and depleted, went to my bedroom to rest, and fell to sleep. Amelia woke me with a clear trilling sound. Betty had passed.
I felt flooded with sadness, guilt, and sorrow for not being with Betty through the end. When I kneeled down to tend to her, I discovered Brigid’s Cross underneath Betty’s body. The cross had fallen from the wall and managed to land in the middle of the room. The Goddess Brigid of Ireland, my Holy Mother, is a divine source for me much like the Virgin Mary is for others. She is the Goddess of Healers and Midwifery, the Goddess of Protection, and a protector of small animals.
Brigid’s Cross and healing energy came home with me after my first trip to Ireland long ago. I hung the cross on my wall, and it never once had fallen. Finding it beneath Betty, I felt Brigid’s blessing. She watched over us and allowed me to rest while she helped Betty journey home.