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I’m helping a human through her kitty’s transition.

I’ve lost count of pet deaths over the past year.   This is a time of tremendous change of all kinds, change that will not be denied.  Sometimes, I counsel clients who are helping both a pet and a parent through their respective transitions.

This cat is is only 10 and has just been diagnosed with an intractable illness.  In the end it will be a mercifully quick exit.  Merciful for the client, who is grappling with surprise and grief but also with fear, watching a beloved pet suffer.

I’ve learned that her cat client has basically seen this person to a solid, joyful place in her career development, and now he’s looking ahead with anticipation to another lifetime.   This time in the company of a boy.

I try very hard to stay unattached to the outcome in these cases, to avoid being caught up in the grief and fear.   Mostly I’m very successful.  At the same time, I keep one eye open for something comforting I can share with the person.

Two days ago the human contacted me to find out if her cat needed help in his transition.  He didn’t at the time.  But what was interesting to me, and comforting, was that the end was very near, and the spirit had separated almost completely from the body.  So I was chatting with a whole, healthy, happy kitty who was above and to the right of the fading physical body.

The spirit kitty isn’t experiencing any pain or unhappiness.  He is very matter-of-fact about the passing; he’s humorous and thankful for his life and loving toward his person and his cat companion.

It reminded me of something I know intellectually, but that’s easy to forget in the light of suffering:   the spirit goes on.  Animals seem to be at peace with this.  When I boil my work down to what really matters, it doesn’t get much more comforting.

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