The Pet Psychic Diaries

by Jeanne Miller

  “Will you ask my Mom to show me what’s in the high cupboards?”

  ***

  Son – a pony:

  Son had passed on and his owner wanted to know what he was doing on the other side. He said:

  “I give pony rides to the children who come here. I am part of their Heaven.”

  The Liar’s Club

  Zane Gray, Caramel, Mama Mia and Taffy

  My love affair with mice all started because of my rescued Siamese cat, Simon Pasquale. The fact that I start each morning tripping over a mouse aquarium is all his fault.

  Simon Pasquale: It is all his fault

  I had never owed a Siamese cat before but had always heard they were extremely intelligent. This has proven to be true. There isn’t a cupboard or closet in my home that Simon hasn’t managed to open. When a cat is missing, most people look under the beds. I have to search the pantry and hall closet.

  Trying to find toys to pique his interest proved difficult. Once he had figured out how they worked, he became bored and left them. I bought the typical cat toys. The little oval track with the ball that rolls around, and a busy box where the cat reaches his arm in the hole to play with the ball inside. Once he realized that both were built so that the ball would never come out, he walked away from them without a backward glance. I tried a laser light next. He never fell for that one at all. He looked at the red dot on the wall, then at me with a look that clearly said: “Are you kidding me with this stuff?” It soon became apparent that my boy was bored, bored, bored. He started to look so sad. I knew I had to do something to engage his quick mind; but what? I was contemplating buying him a Chess set, when I happened to see a picture of some kind of rodent in a cage with six cats just staring at it. That was it! He needed something to watch.

  Enter the mice. To keep them safe, I opted for a large glass aquarium. Simon was enraptured! From the day I brought them home, he spent the majority of his time staring at the cage. He would even lie on the top during the day when they were sleeping, just waiting for them to come out and play.

  There have been many mice over the years, but by far, my favorites were the furry little crew I nicknamed “The Liar’s Club.”

  The club consisted of four mice; three fancies and one solid white. Caramel was a lovely white and tan; Taffy was completely rust colored; Zane Gray, whom I called “Zanie”, was a gorgeous brindle; and Mama Mia was a common white mouse who had been used by the pet store as a breeder. When they felt she could no longer bear babies, she was destined for the feeder bin. The feeder bin is the place where people buy live food for their snakes. They are less expensive than the Fancies and are usually all white or black mice. Luckily for her, one of the pet store employees had grown fond of her and couldn’t bear for this to be her fate. I was happy to add her to the crew.

  They all had special qualities, were very sweet and friendly, and I fell madly in love. I couldn’t do enough for them. Along with their regular healthy diet, they were given any treat I thought they would like. They were very partial to cheese popcorn and would line up when they saw me coming with it. One of the nicest qualities mice possess is their gentle natures. As I would hand a piece of popcorn out to the first in line, the second would swipe it right out of his hands. The third would swipe it and then the fourth. It was like a little assembly line of thieves. And they never got angry. They would just stand there and wait for me to give them another one to replace the one that was stolen. They made me laugh so many times.

  I loved them all, but by far my favorite was my little Zanie. He had been born with the obesity gene and although he ate just like the others; while they stayed normal sized, he grew and grew. He loved to do two things; eat, and stare at me. Most often when I would be working on something, I would glance at the cage and there was my little Zanie, standing by the glass, staring at me. I would go over and reach in and give him a pet. I try not to flatter myself though. He may have just been keeping an eye on his food source.

  One day while shopping at one of the larger pet chain stores, I saw a little potted plant of grass for rodents to chew on. Knowing that they loved grass, but it was the wrong season to pull it from outside, I brought this little treat home to them. They were crazy about it. They pulled it apart, dug all the dirt out, burrowed in it and had a wonderful time. I was so happy I had gotten it for them; until the next day. I woke up to four mice who were incessantly scratching themselves. Needless to say, I felt terrible. The grass or soil must have contained mites or some other microscopic pests and I’m the one who had handed it to them.

  I quickly sought help and was given a special medication for them. I had to change all the bedding in their cage, wash it down and then put a drop of this liquid on their backs. Another cage change and they should be all set. I was so grateful that they didn’t require a vet visit. It is almost impossible to find a vet in my area, who will work with mice. I’m sorry to say that most see them as lab animals and therefore, not important. Shame on them.

  I thought the best way to do this was to have a chat with them first and explain what was happening. I didn’t want them to be frightened by my suddenly dropping liquid on their backs. I went into meditation and prayer and quickly connected to my babies. I told them how sorry I was and explained why they were itching so badly. I explained about the medicine, how it would help, and asked them if they would allow me to put this medicine on their backs without too much trouble. I told them that I was planning on doing this in just a couple of hours. I then asked them each individually if they would allow me to do this without having to chase them around. One by one, they each promised me they would cooperate. I was so relieved that they had sounded so accommodating. Too accommodating as I was soon to find out.

  I always loved taking off their cage cover every morning, as I would see furry little bodies everywhere. They all sprawled in different places. Their cage had one large house, a smaller one and their exercise wheel. Often I would find one asleep on the wheel, while another’s head was sticking out of one of the house doorways. Sometimes one would fall asleep on top of one of the houses. It was always an adorable sight. Imagine my surprise when I opened the cage up to find…..nothing. Not a mouse to be found anywhere. It was like a little mouse Ghost Town. It was as if aliens had come down and sucked my babies out of their cage. I peeked into the little house and found nothing. I leaned down and peeked into the doorway of the large house and that is when I became really concerned. Nothing! Not a hair or fuzzy face to be found. This just couldn’t be! I lifted the large house and there they all were; piled on top of each other, pasted as far into the back corner as they could get. They had never done this. They were hiding from me. They had lied to me. I laughed so hard I almost fell down. That is when they earned the deserved nickname of The Liar’s Club.

  I immediately went back into meditation and connected with them again. I went through the entire spiel again, stressing the fact that it wouldn’t hurt in the least. I reminded them that they had given their word. I told them that I would be back in two hours then it would be medicine time for them no matter what.

  I’m happy to say that when I came back, they were all out and allowed me to medicate them. They didn’t run and they didn’t fuss. They almost lined up for it. The itching stopped and they were back to normal.

  There have been so many mice through the years and I have loved them all. But these four hold a special place in my heart. They gave me so much joy and made me laugh so much.

  They say you can’t buy happiness. But they are wrong; you can. It costs about 2.49 at your local pet store.

  My little Zanie doing one of his favorite things: Staring at me.

  And here is Simon with the latest crew. He is still fascinated:

  Simon with Simone, Blaze, and Goldie.

  Birdie Blackmail

  Krebs the Sun Conure

  Although most birds live in a flock, many bond to only one mate. And when we bring them into our homes, they will often bond to one person. This
was never more evident than in the story of Krebs, the South American Sun Conure.

  My client Lisa called on me to have a chat with Krebs, who had bonded completely with her husband and had no use for anyone else. He would try to bite her anytime she dared to intrude.

  I was very excited to speak with this gorgeous bird and was curious to see what his viewpoint was. When I asked him why he was always trying to bite her, he said: “Because I already have a mate.”

  I explained to Krebs that in the human world we have mates, but we also have friends. And it was perfectly OK to have both. I told him that Lisa and her husband were human mates and that they looked upon him as their bird mate/friend. I said this was why Lisa did everything she could to see to his comfort. I told him that she is the one who supplied him with his food and toys. I told him that Lisa also loved him very much. He didn’t say anything about this little lesson in human society, but he did listen intently so I hoped he had taken it in and understood.

  Lisa had wanted to know if Krebs could tell her the best way to communicate with him and understand him better. He replied: “She can look at my body language as that will tell her what my intentions are.”

  Krebs shares a home with many other varieties of birds and Lisa wanted to know what he thought of them. Krebs said: “They are OK, but they are all way too noisy.”

  I asked him if there was anything he wanted. He immediately showed me bird toys strewn all over the floor. Krebs said: “I would like to play on the floor with my toys, but I don’t want the others going after them. Can I have “alone” time on the floor without the others around?” He stopped for a moment and seemed to be thinking. Then he said: “Can I have a tree?” He sent me a picture of a driftwood type tree that had no leaves on it. It was in a large pot and was standing right next to his cage. He said: “I would like to climb and sit on it.” The feeling he sent was that it would be close to his cage where he would feel secure, but would serve to give him more time out of his cage.

  I told him I would ask but I also reminded Krebs that if he would stop biting Lisa, he would be allowed to move around more freely. I explained how very painful his bites were to humans. He sent me the feeling that he had no idea that they hurt so much. He said they were just “warning” bites. I told him that his biting Lisa was not only making her unhappy but was also upsetting her husband as she was his human mate. Krebs was an extremely intelligent bird and I could sense that he was taking all this information in and was thinking about it.

  I thanked Krebs for talking with me and as we parted company, I asked once more if he would promise me he would try to stop biting. He cocked his head and said in a sly type voice. “Well, I don’t know. Are you gonna get me that tree?” After I got though chuckling, I promised to talk to Lisa about it. Was this the bird version of blackmail? I think it was indeed.

  I reported back to Lisa that Krebs said he would try to stop biting, but I added that it may well depend on whether he got his much desired tree. I like to think that he did.

  Henry

  The Story of a Stray

  Henry

  We’ve all seen them. They show up in our yards, store parking lots and alleyways. They are the strays. The ones who, through no fault of their own, find themselves without a home. This beautiful cat is just one out of many and they all have a story. This is Henry’s.

  Kathy, a sweet woman with a huge heart, contacted me one day about a new stray who had shown up in her backyard. As we spoke, it became clear that she was what one might call a “stray magnet.” You probably all have a friend like this. For reasons unknown, strays are somehow attracted to them, and are immediately taken care of. I’m sure your friends often ask themselves, “why always my yard, why never the yard next door?” During our reading, Henry supplied this answer. It was the same answer I have gotten from other strays in other readings. He said: “I was wandering and when I saw her house, it suddenly lit up with a bright light around it. I knew this meant it was a safe place for animals.” Another cat had once told me the same thing. I think the spirit world helps the lost ones by more of less “lighting the way.”

  Kathy was concerned for Henry, but as she and her husband already had a houseful living with them, taking Henry in was impossible. She wrote in part: “Henry, as we have named him is a stray Maine Coon cat with no known history. My husband and I already have six cats and two rescued kittens living indoors with us. We have constructed a warm shelter for Henry outdoors.” I could see how upsetting this was for Kathy who has a deep love for animals. After caring for him for a few weeks, she asked me to speak to Henry and explain why she wasn’t able to take him in. She wanted me to ask him if he would prefer to live

  outside in the igloo where he will be warm and fed, or would he like to go to a no-kill shelter? During this time she was also actively trying to find a home for Henry, and she wanted him to know that. It was clear to me through my talks with Kathy, that her outdoor stray was treated better than most people’s indoor cats. He was lucky to have found his way to her.

  When I first connected with Henry, he was a cat of few words with a bit of a taciturn personality, but still very sweet. He was crazy about Kathy and it was clear he wanted to be her cat. When I mentioned that she had wanted me to speak with him, he blurted out: “I love her!” I asked how he was doing living outside and he said: “I’m OK.” When I explained to him why Kathy couldn’t bring him inside, he said OK but I could feel a wave of disappointment. When I asked about the shelter, he interrupted me with a sharp and decisive “NO!” I didn’t think he had ever been in one, but I felt Kathy had pictured it one day while grooming him and he picked up the picture. He didn’t like what he saw and wanted no part of it. He told me he knew she was trying to find him a home and he appreciated it, but he really wished he could live with her.

  Kathy had mentioned that Henry’s fur was a bit matted and she was working on it with him. But he would only tolerate it for a short while and then would balk. I explained to Henry why it was important to keep him groomed and asked if he could be more cooperative. He said he would try to be better about it. Before we parted, I asked Henry if there was anything he wanted. His quick response was: “I want to go in!” As I said, Henry was a cat of few words, but when he spoke, he got straight to the point.

  During the weeks that followed, I spoke with Henry a number of times for various reasons. One was that another stray, whom Kathy had named Charlie, was also living in her back yard and they did not get along. Charlie was as opposite to Henry as one could get. He was outgoing, lively, and didn’t really want to live inside. He said he could only put up with it if he could be both an indoor and an outdoor cat. The only thing they agreed on was that they both loved the Igloo that Kathy had fashioned for Henry. Charlie would run in and just as quickly, Henry would run him back out. There were many spats and arguments and I tried my best to get them to accept each other and compromise. Nothing doing.

  When Henry wasn’t running Charlie out of the Igloo, he was trying to storm Kathy’s house. Any time a door was opened, Henry would race in. Kathy would use that opportunity to take him into a separate room from her house kitties and groom him as best she could. The outdoor life was taking a toll on his beautiful fur. However, not knowing if he had any communicable illnesses, or if he had even been neutered sealed his fate. He had to go back out after the grooming. This tore Kathy apart. She hated having to put him back out.

  It was at this point that Henry started to disappear. He would be gone for days and Kathy would be frantic. I contacted him during this time and he had become very angry. He said if Kathy wouldn’t let him in, he would find someone else. I would tell him how worried she was, and he would come home for awhile, but then leave again for days on end. He was working hard on finding someone to take him in. Yet always, he would come back from these unsuccessful forays.

  Kathy called one day very upset. As usual Henry had run into her house and once again, she had to shoo him out. But on this particular day, the
usually sweet natured boy, took a swipe at her. He had always been so good around her, and she was trying so hard to help him that this was really upsetting. She asked me to find out why he had done such a thing.

  When Henry was asked this question, he told me that he was well behaved and he had wanted to show her this so she would let him stay. He said: “I got mad when she wouldn’t give me a chance to show her what a good boy I am!” I don’t think he understood the irony of that. But he did hang his head and say: “I’m sorry.”

  It wasn’t very long after this that Kathy was able to find someone to take sweet Henry. He finally found his home. Charlie is still with her and happily stretches out in Henry’s old digs. I’m sure if I’d spoken to him right after Henry left, he would have said: “Finally mine…all mine.”

  Henry was one of the lucky ones. He was lucky to have found someone as caring and loving as Kathy to look after him; he was lucky to find a home. But his story is only one out of the millions of strays who are out on the streets; cold, lonely, scared, and hungry.

  Gandhi once said: “The greatness of a nation and its moral progress can be judged by the way its animals are treated.”