A LITTLE BIT OF SOUL
This morning while we were having breakfast, our cat, Henry, started running in and out of the kitchen like a maniac. He darted outside through the kitty door, stayed out there for about twenty seconds, then darted back into the kitchen and raced all the way to the far end of the bedroom. He did this several times. I don’t know what he was reacting to, but clearly, it was something we couldn’t see.
We’ve noticed this and lots of other inexplicable behavior in our cats over the years. Our sweet little Siamese, Natasha, (who recently went “over the rainbow bridge”) would wake up in the middle of the night howling. For those of you who have never experienced the Siamese Howl, it is chilling, mournful, ghost-like, and utterly unforgettable – especially when it wakes you up at three o’clock in the morning. I would call her over to us and she would scramble into bed like a frightened child. I would stroke her and comfort her until she fell into a deep sleep.
Natasha was otherworldly, anyway. She, more than any of the cats I’ve ever known, seemed to be in touch with spirits. I would walk into the living room and find her standing with her nose two inches from a blank wall. She would be intently staring at something I could not see. She could go on like that for quite a long time. It used to puzzle us no end.
Another thing about Natasha – We used to call her “Nurse Natty”. She was extremely aware of our moods and our physical aches and pains. When either one of us was feeling blue or was “under the weather”, Natty would appear out of nowhere. She would actually sit on us and purr for as long as we could allow. I’ll bet if you tested our blood pressure before and after one of Natty’s treatments, you would see it go way down. She always made us feel better, no matter what was going on.
Then there was Charlie. Charlie was alert to invisible predators. He would awaken from a sound sleep and jump about two feet into the air, then scramble off to another room. It was dramatic with Charlie because of his extremely long legs. I used to say that he was the Air Jordan of Cats.
It’s not only cats. My mom’s little dog, Mugsy, is prone to barking at odd times of the day and night as if there were a stranger at the door. Well, Mom looks up and down the sidewalk outside, but there is no one, nothing, no sound, no shadow. At least, nothing that is detectable to us.
I believe that out animal companions are tuned in to other dimensions. Maybe it’s their extraordinary sense of smell or their acute hearing. But more than that, I just think they have been endowed with the ability to perceive what we can not. I know, I know. Just too weird. But if you have ever lived with a four-footed companion, you probably have witnessed what I have witnessed.
And then you hear pronouncements, as I have, that “animals have no souls”, and so forth. Well, in the first place, we are animals, so I guess that statement is intended to mean either that we have no souls or, more likely, that non-human animals have no souls. It’s just not logical. If humans have souls, why not other species?
The problem is one of communication. Our four-footed companions can not speak our language, and therefore, there is no way for us to know what they think or feel. Of course, some might argue that it is we who can not speak their language. As sure as I’m sitting here, our cat Henry knows exactly what we are saying to him. (Although he may choose to ignore us). And he’s better at reading our moods than most humans. He’s way better at understanding us than we are at understanding him.
My best guess is that our beloved Natty came to “visit” Henry this morning, and the two of them were running around chasing each other, as they had for many years.
© 2004, Robin Munson