Although I am partly responsible for writing The Therapist’s Cat whose original title was the name of retreat I am doing next month in Houston, I have to say, in all honesty, Moo, my late cat was the real author.  Weighing 2.9 kilos with long spiky fur she stayed with me 23 years in all.  Seven of these years were spent at Bosham House, where I worked as editor of New Vision for 7 years  and the publishing trust. Moo  would take up residence in Mr Hamblin’s(the founder) old letter tray, warming the outgoing mail.

From the beginning she wanted to be in on everything.  Really, she was quite’ high tech’ and loved computers because they were warm and purred. In the early 1990s computer monitors were more bulky, not streamlined as they are today.  Moo would spend her days draped across the back of the warm monitor while, every now and then, her tail would fall forward across the screen and I would gently return it to its place.  But then it would drop down again, moving irritatingly across the screen, until I took notice of her and acknowledged her presence.  I’d have some respite in summer when she was out hunting birds or mice.  From an early age she had me very well trained and would catch a wren, run into the house with it and announce in that deep meow of hers that she had caught something.  I did just what she wanted. I rushed down the stairs, opened a tin of tuna and she let me have the wren unharmed and I would set it free.  This was a pattern and I knew I should admonish her instead of reward her behavior, but on the subject of birds, I just gave into her. 

I have always noticed that at roughly two years, the soul seems to enter a domestic animal. The playful instinctive part, slowly gives way to the animal underneath. It’s as if they drop down into themselves.

Moo had character and charm which seemed to work with most people, even those that were less connected to animals.  Gradually, as time passed, she began to develop  a wisdom. It was there in her presence, not that she ever let go of those mischievous and playful traits of hers.

While other cats in the household came and went, Moo lived on.  When she could no longer sit on top of the television set and swish her tail across it, she would still mew loudly if she wanted something.

But there is a time when you know that your animal is ready to go home, to that far place of feather and fur.  Moo let Hanne and I know and it was with a mixture of reluctance and relief that we took her to the vet to make her final journey home.

It was about a month after Moo had passed away, that I began to notice a presence as I travelled to work on the train.  I knew it was Moo.   It took just over an hour’s each way to reach the hospital where I worked.  Moo’s ‘presence’ would drop in when I was on the train and she began to explain in no uncertain terms that she had a book to write about animal evolution.  And ‘now’ was the time.  She had tried to communicate this to me when on the earth, but I was always too busy.  She urged that because it was so important that her work got written, that we had no time to waste.  She wanted to make known the affect of cruelty and animal exploitation on human evolution.  Apparently, we had reached a critical juncture in our co-evolution.  She explained that the best lessons in the world were told through oral or written narrative.  Stories had the power to evoke images and bypass the analytical censoring part of the brain.  This was why the power of story is so powerful.

Moo didn’t relent.  Every time I got on the train to work my night shifts, she would be there.  Later, after collapsing into bed, she would be present, urging me to make a note of what she was saying.  So – for effectively six months, Moo related her story through the lens of the main character, Pete Shepherd, a psychotherapist. 

Usually, I find writing takes a certain amount of self discipline and it very rarely flows.  But writing The Therapist’s Cat seemed moderately effortless in comparison.  It just flowed, because in a way I was taking diction from Moo through a running commentary of images and words.  It was also humorous to write. Moo had a sense of humor that was engaging….  

I am hoping that humor and the ability to engage with our animal nature will come across in the workshop.   Really, it is an invitation to explore the animal and human relationship through the lens of the evolutionary process – both esoteric and biological.  I will also draw from the insight of various teachers such as White Eagle, Alice Bailey, Doctor Lascelles and Rudolph Steiner.

We will look at Animal Totems and what message they may have for us.  Additionally, we will study the powerful forces of migration and what drives our inner and outer migratory journeys.    Also, we will explore ‘where animals go when they die?’ along with our special relationship with our pets.

As this workshop has emerged from The Therapist’s Cat which is intimately embedded in animal evolution, we will also look at the central character, Moo…..and the ‘Moo’ within us.

Incidentally, while planning the retreat I heard, through the work of Diana Cooper, that a Cosmic Portal in Mongolia is opening in 2012 which has a special energy for animals and their evolution! So, this seems very timely, especially in view of my next post.

 Stephanie Sorrell