Neko the Cat

Time Frame:  July 2017

Lizzie has been pet-sitting for a while now.  It started as a neighborhood job when she was about 10, and has now grown into a full-fledged business.  We even made it an LLC with Lizzie as the primary owner.  Recently she was asked to pet sit for neighbors who have been clients for several years.  They have cats, guinea pigs, and fish.  And when I say cats, I mean like 8 cats.

The 8th cat was a new edition since the last time Lizzie took care of the brood.  A kitten named Neko.  She had been rescued from the middle of the road one recent fateful day, less than 3 months old.  Her human brought her home to join the rest of the troops, anticipating zero transition issues. . .after all, kittens are malleable, and there were 7 well-adjusted adult cats to show this little nugget the ropes.

It wasn't long, however, before little Neko was testing some boundaries.  She was absolutely refusing to utilize ANY of the four litter boxes in the house. Her humans did all "the things."  You know--those things we do. . .asking for advice, googling it, going to the vet, giving medicine-just in case.  The vet advised them that it *could* be behavioral, but they would treat the cat for some medical issue just in case. . .

So, enter Lizzie the pet-sitter.  The family would be gone for a full week.  The owner advised Lizzie that Neko had been having many accidents and she would need to check all over the house for the dreaded "clean up on aisle 9." (indeed one of these so-called accidents had occurred on the kitchen counter, of all places!  UGH!  Can you imagine?!) Additionally, the owner explained, Neko would need medicines administered, as it was hoped that the medicine was going to fix what ever was ailing little Neko and causing her to create such drama in the household.

Lizzie came home from her first visit just in love with the new kitten.  But in her usual dramatic style, she expressed how concerned she felt because she just couldn't figure out a way to get Neko to take this medicine.  The cat seemed to anticipate every strategy Lizzie had, and she ended up leaving the morning visit without getting Neko's medicine in her.  As she worriedly explained all the things she tried, I made a simple suggestion.

"How about you tune in to Neko and ask her what's going on?"

In the couple of months prior, Lizzie had had 3 private lessons with our friendly, local animal communicator. . .and by all accounts Lizzie was already quite adept with the skills she'd been honing. . .but for some reason she simply didn't default to a position of "Oh, I know exactly what to do. . .I'll tune in and use my guidance system to help with this conundrum."  So, my assumed role was that of Tonto.  Uttering just enough wisdom at the appropriate moment to activate Kemosabe.  (Yikes I probably just lost a whole bunch of you with that reference.  If necessary, take a squirrel moment and google The Lone Ranger and Tonto.)

Meanwhile, back at the ranch. . .

Lizzie actually liked the idea of test-driving her new cosmic tools to connect with Neko.  This is of note because she's a 16 year old girl.  And I'm her mother.  And we all know that when you're 16, your mother has ZERO good ideas.  Ever.  Period.  And furthermore, you'd rather eat a salad of broken glass and snake guts before actually ADMITTING your mom has a good idea and you're willing to take her advice.

Well, ok, she didn't admit OUT LOUD that it was a good idea.  But she did take my suggestion of tuning in.

Lizzie was typically a little secretive about using her Spidey senses.  I didn't really know when or where she "did it."  She was rather like the basset hound who takes the bone you're offering into his mouth, stares at you to size you up, then prances off with those big ears flopping to some undisclosed secret lair where the bone is enjoyed.  So, it was always a bit of a surprise when she decided to fill me in on her other-worldly experiences.  She would just reappear and dive in to delivering the news, and no matter what I had going on--I knew I had to get into a neutral mode to just listen.  I'm getting better at that, but sometimes. . .(like at 1:30 in the morning when I've just had a few glasses of wine. . .OY!)

So, in this particular instance she disappeared, I carried on and frankly forgot about the mystery at hand until the magical reappearance occurred.

Lizzie popped in to the kitchen while I was prepping dinner, clearly full of excitement and clarity.  She began to explain:

"Ok Mom.  Here's the deal.  I talked to Neko, and ohmagod Mom, she is sooooo sweet!"

Lizzie continued to explain that the kitten feels she doesn't belong because the other cats are older and no one plays with her.  And then punch line came:

"I told her that if she didn't start using the litter box, the humans would take her to the shelter!  And you know what she said??!  She said, "That's the idea."

According to Lizzie, the cat was intentionally creating messes throughout the house in order to get herself a one-way ticket on the next train out of town.

At this point, I was trying to remain neutral but I was tending toward skeptical.  The truth is that even when things seem somewhat plausible, the part of my brain that likes science and order and data just balks. I can't help it.  Even after all these years and all the things I have been through with this girl of mine, my brain still goes there.  So, I decided to employ one of the mantras I adopted years ago.

"Hmmm.  Tell me what you think about that."

Lizzie continued, all the while becoming more. . .shall we say. . . emphatic.  (I really wanted to say dramatic.)  "Well, I just don't know what to do!"

This was followed by 5 more minutes of ranting and arm flailing which basically all meant the same thing as "I don't know what to do."  To her credit, she did make one cogent point--the cat was refusing to take the medicine and Lizzie, who takes her job very seriously, was understandably worried about the owners' reactions.

Neutral neutral neutral.  Stay neutral.

"Sounds like you're figuring out a lot!  Trust your instincts."

Eye-rolling exasperation overtook her.  Could her mother really be this big of an idiot?  "No I'm NOT figuring it out, MOM!  What am I supposed to do?"

Umm.  Huh?  The girl is asking the mother?  Did the Universe just enter some kind of slipstream that alters the laws of teenagery?  By all accounts I'm dumber than an empty bag of rocks.  And furthermore--I'm not the one with the wonder-twin powers, so why ask ME?!  The moment had come for me to utter a response, and fortunately I've gotten better at just relaxing and letting the ideas flow.  (You'll see in other posts that this is a constant work in progress, but at this point I was further along in my development.)

"Well, how about you tell Neko that you'll make sure YOU give her lots of attention during this week that you're pet-sitting.  And then ask her if she's willing to use the litter box as long as she's getting some play time.  That way, maybe, you won't have to deal with the accidents all over the place.  Then--you could even offer to tell her humans that she needs more love and attention and invite her to give that a chance before giving up on this home and setting up the circumstances that would cause her to be taken to the shelter."

Wow--how smart am I?  Where did that even come from?  Check me out!

And just to reinforce the brilliance of the suggestion I gave her, my child, *clearly* overflowing with amazement and gratitude, paused slightly with a completely flat affect, rolled her eyes and said through pursed lips,

"Ok."

Then disappeared.

I didn't hear anything else for a few days.  The pet-sitting continued and I didn't ask.  I've learned to become very judicious in my questioning---even though often my curiosity demands to be satisfied.  But it just works better if I let the butterfly come to me. . .so I wait.

Toward the end of the week, Lizzie shared the report.  Neko the cat was loving the attention and there hadn't been one single accident the whole time Lizzie was pet-sitting.  Well. There's some data for me.  Interesting.  So I mentioned to Lizzie that Diane  (her animal communication mentor) had given her the homework of sharing a pet's reading with an owner. As soon as I mentioned this, Lizzie became very nervous and agitated and said there was NO WAY she could talk about all this with the owners.  So, I dropped it. . .Really, I did.  In the way moms drop things. . .and I later called the cat's owner and tip-toed around the idea.  After asking a few relatively innocuous questions and listening to my own instincts, I gingerly shared that Lizzie was working on using some special gifts to work with animals and she felt she had some information about Neko that might be helpful.  I gave my usual schpiel about "I know this is unusual. . .I have a hard time understanding it myself. . .blah blah blah" but the owner was remarkably receptive to hearing what Lizzie had to say.  To make things even more interesting. . .she shared she thinks one of her kids may have some similar gifts. . .hmmmm.  Don't ya just love it when a plan comes together?

So I chose a time of relative calm to tell Lizzie I had laid this groundwork for her.  Initially she was still VERY resistant, but then I reminded her this was homework from Diane, and after all. . .she had made a promise to Neko to explain her needs to her people.  Lizzie's expression was all at once furious and somewhat in awe, as if to say, "Well played Maternal Unit.  Diabolical.  But well-played."

At some point over the next few days, Lizzie texted the owner and explained how she saw Neko's needs.  I was not a party to this as it apparently occurred in the aforementioned secret lair. I resisted the temptation to nag or ask for updates, and eventually the whole thing just fell off my radar as other wild and woolly happenings cropped up (as they always do.)

Some weeks later I received this text from Lizzie, forwarded from Neko's mom.

"Happy Friday Lizzie!  Just wanted to give you an update on Neko.  I took your suggestion of spending more one on one time with her and giving her extra loving and guess what. . . .not one accident in weeks!  Girl, u need your own TV Show!  U r a lifesaver!  Thank u!"

I was stunned.  I shouldn't have been.  But I was.   Will I ever get to that "nothing surprises me anymore" point?  Doesn't matter.  As always, my spiritual team knows I need OBVIOUS.  No doubt they regularly utter to each other, "Oh bless her heart," as they once again set up circumstances to meet my needs for *evidence.*

My girl was so excited and I was so proud of her! And as I allowed the awesomeness of this whole chain of events to register, I felt deep appreciation.  I thanked the Source within me that helps me stay (relatively) sane amid a shifting paradigm, for the angelic team that bolsters me and constantly nudges me to engage, for my earthly friends and family who have hung in there, and for this mind-blowing girl who is my teacher.

And I felt like a good mom.  That's just the best feeling, isn't it?  You know that feeling--we've all felt it.  Some of us feel it more freely than others, but you certainly can identify it.  Grasp that good feeling tightly because it keeps us lined up with our inner guidance.  And when we are lined up, we can trust our instincts and make better decisions about our kids and ourselves.

And remember:  school is still in session.  Another lesson is always forthcoming. . .