Bill and that cat, named AbbyCat by our granddaughter, were soon inseparable. Wherever Bill went, AbbyCat followed. On his long daily walks she stayed right at his heels. I’d never seen anything like it.

Watching from the window one chilly afternoon, I saw Bill heading for his Adirondack chair under the Bradford pear tree. AbbyCat jumped up on one of the chair’s broad arms and waited for Bill to settle in. When he was comfortable, he lifted her into his lap and opened a book. A bit later I brought him out a sandwich. Naturally he shared it with AbbyCat.

The only place AbbyCat didn’t follow Bill was into the house. The screened back porch was as far as she would go. So Bill fixed her up a cozy box for whenever she wanted to stay the night. “She’ll be snug in here,” he said when it was finished. Sure enough, AbbyCat curled right up inside.

I wasn’t surprised when I glanced out into the yard one afternoon in February. She obviously doesn’t mind this cold snap, I thought. Just like Bill. The two of them were in their chair, Bill stroking AbbyCat’s fur absentmindedly while he read. I’d grown used to their unexpected friendship, which somehow seemed meant to be. It felt like a blessing as I looked on from the window, the two of them all the warmth each other needed under the pear tree.

A few days later, Bill came into the kitchen for his usual breakfast: cereal and bananas. From the living room, I heard an odd sound. When I went to see what had happened, I found Bill lying on the floor. My husband couldn’t be revived. He had died instantly of a heart attack.

In the coming days, I hardly gave AbbyCat a thought as she came and went. But when I got home from Bill’s funeral, I found her on the porch. I knew she was looking for Bill, missing him, just like me. “He’s gone,” I told her. “We’ve both lost someone very dear.” She couldn’t understand. Neither could I. It was impossible to imagine a world without Bill in it. I tried to coax AbbyCat inside, wanting her there more than ever. She refused, as always.

After that, I stopped seeing her in the yard, or on the porch. Bill’s Adirondack chair stayed empty. So did AbbyCat’s box. Somehow her disappearance seemed to make Bill’s absence all the more permanent. It was a strange comparison, but all I could think was that I would never see either one of them again.

Then one afternoon, I glanced out the window and saw a flash of yellow. AbbyCat! She was sitting on the porch, staring at the house just like she had so many times before. “You’re always welcome,” I whispered. “On your own terms, of course.” I knew better than to try to coax her inside. It would only scare her away. Her silent presence was enough to lift my spirits.

Over the next few weeks, I glimpsed AbbyCat three times. She would sit on the porch, looking into the house, as if she wanted me to simply feel her presence. And even though Bill wasn’t there, I could feel his presence too. A presence that reached me all the way from heaven and assured me we would see each other again someday.

Once AbbyCat had gotten her message across, she didn’t return. Her angelic mission was accomplished. Not only by being an unlikely friend to Bill, but by being a comfort to me.

For more angelic stories, subscribe to Angels on Earth magazine.

The post An Unlikely Feline Friend Brought Heaven-Sent Comfort appeared first on Guideposts.

One Caturday, Lisa chose to feature a book because the author’s birthday was that week. For the photo, she put a birthday hat on Horatio, her ginger tabby. To her surprise, he seemed to enjoy it. “Horatio is very laid-back, and he took wearing the hat in stride,” Lisa says. A few weeks later, she made other hats for Horatio, and he happily wore those too.

Lisa wondered what would happen if she created simple costumes for the cats and used some props in the photos. She started with a post featuring Shakespeare’s works where the cats wore straws (later swapped for coffee filters) around their necks to look like Elizabethan ruffs. People loved it. Lisa took it up a notch, crafting wigs out of yarn and clothes out of felt.

She makes sure that the kitties are comfortable posing. Two of her five other cats—Marmalade and Jojo—tolerate wearing the costumes, but Horatio revels in it. “It’s his special thing,” Lisa says. “He’s so photogenic. He’s just a ham!”

Lisa particularly likes to re-create the covers of children’s books. Her cats have dressed up as characters from J.R.R. Tolkien’s The Lord of the Rings and A.A. Milne’s The Complete Tales of Winnie-the-Pooh. Other representations include The Princess Bride and Hocus Pocus.

Not all of Lisa’s posts feature a book or a movie. Sometimes they celebrate a current event. When Prince Harry married Meghan Markle, Marmalade and Horatio dressed up as a bride and groom to commemorate the occasion.

To date, Lisa’s most labor-intensive Caturday post featured the Iron Throne from George R.R. Martin’s novel series, Game of Thrones. Lisa spent seven-and-a-half hours making the throne out of cardboard. “I’ve used it three times now, so it was worth it,” she says.

While social media has been the main place for folks to get their Horatio fix, the library also publishes a Caturday Calendar, featuring the best photos from the previous year. It’s sold as a fundraiser, and people all over the country have ordered. There’s also a Dog Days calendar, featuring the library’s tail-wagging tutors who listen to children read.

Unlike these canine volunteers, Lisa’s cats don’t actually come into the library. But Horatio does have his own life-size cardboard cutout amongst the books. “Everyone loves seeing him,” Lisa says.

Now, half of Lisa’s closet is filled with cat costumes. Thirteen-year-old Horatio is a real clotheshorse and loves a fashion show. “Somehow, he knows when I’m working on a new costume for him, and he comes in my room to watch,” she says. 

Caturdays have bumped the library’s Instagram account to nearly 10,000 followers. Lisa is thrilled but puts the focus back where it should be. “I want to promote the library as a place to connect with others and learn. So many wonderful services in libraries get overlooked, and we want to change that.”

For more inspiring animal stories, subscribe to All God’s Creatures magazine.

The post How a Cat in Costume is Bringing Attention to a Local Library appeared first on Guideposts.

“Broken?” I asked. Had I heard her correctly? I looked down at the black cat sitting on my foot. He trilled softly. The minute I’d walked into the animal shelter’s cat room, he’d been one step behind me, my shadow. I wasn’t an expert, but this cat seemed friendly.

“He’s been a stray since birth,” the volunteer explained. “He doesn’t like anyone—not other cats, not dogs, not people. Sometimes they’re out there way too long. He’s already three years old. At a certain point, it’s nearly impossible for them to be fully domesticated.”

“I want to adopt him,” I said.

“Really?” she asked. There were several other cats up for adoption, cats that were socialized and would be easier for a first-time owner. “Why?”

“Because he needs a home,” I said. Then under my breath, “And because I’m broken too.”

It was 2017. I’d been in therapy for a while, but it was only recently that my therapist suggested I get an animal companion—preferably something low-maintenance, like a cat. It would be good for me. Maybe even help me form connections with people. I didn’t know if I believed that. But I went to my local shelter.

I don’t know what it was about that little black cat, but I immediately felt a kinship with him. Two abandoned peas in a pod, I guess. I filled out the paperwork and left with him that afternoon.

At home I let him out of the carrier so he could explore. I watched as this little panther smelled every inch of the house. Eventually, his curiosity sated, he settled in my lap. I reached out a hesitant hand to pet him. He purred.

“Look, I’m going to be honest with you,” I said. “I’ve only been able to love two people in my entire life, and I’m thirty-three. I love my brother and one friend—that’s it. I could do without everyone else.” The cat didn’t move. “I have what the professionals call developmental trauma, which causes me to have serious attachment issues.

”Though he wasn’t looking at me, the cat’s ears were pointed in my direction. I knew he was listening. “My mom checked out when I was seven years old—emotionally, I mean. She’s not a bad person,” I said. “She just wasn’t capable of being a mom anymore. Kind of like how your mom wasn’t able to take care of you. I guess you had to figure it out on your own too, huh?”

“Chirp!” the cat replied.

My mom never healed from the trauma she experienced as a child. She went through the motions of parenting, providing shelter and food, but eventually her developmental trauma caught up with her, and she stopped showing me affection, talking to me, encouraging me. Does she love me? I wondered. A lot of times I don’t think she even noticed I was there. She was lost in her own thoughts, her own troubles. My dad, though physically present, was even more absent. I’d accepted his detachment, but I couldn’t let go of wanting a relationship with my mom.

The lack of closeness with my mom affected my interactions with others. I had a couple friends at school, but I didn’t share much of myself with them. What if they decide to shut me out too? I thought.

The cat looked at me. “It’s not like one bad thing happened to me. It’s more about what didn’t happen,” I said. He lowered his head and closed his eyes, his body growing heavy. “I’m telling you this because you shouldn’t expect too much from me. Don’t expect me to love you. I don’t know how.” He drifted off to sleep.

It took me a week to come up with a name for him. I finally settled on Mr. Bojangles, after the song about a homeless man who, even after being arrested, remained happy and upbeat. He spread joy and laughter by dancing for his fellow prisoners. The name fit this cat. Even when he was “behind bars” at the shelter, Mr. Bojangles had been chirping and trilling, like he was trying to cheer me up.

As he adjusted to life with me, he got more talkative. More often than not, I found myself talking back:

“Chirp!”

“Hello, there.”

“Chirp!”

“Yes, I’m home.”

“Chirp. Chirp!”

“I see you’ve moved the kitchen sponge to the living room floor. Hunting?”

“Chirp!”

“It looks dead. Good job.”

By the time a year passed, we’d settled into a routine. When I woke up in the morning, Bo—that’s what I called him for short—would demand that I hold him, so he could rub his face against mine. Then it was breakfast for us both before I headed to work. When I got home in the evenings, Bo would meow until I picked him up. I’d put on music and sway with him in my arms. We danced to the many recordings of “Mr. Bojangles,” his favorite being Sammy Davis Jr.’s rendition. “I knew a man, Bojangles,” I’d sing along, “and he danced for you in worn-out shoes…”

Bo was great company, a good conversationalist and a divine dancer. He’d made my life better. Still, I hesitated to call it love. Just the word itself seemed too big for such a small creature—until the day I came home and collapsed into bed, sobbing.

When you’re recovering from trauma, some days are better than others. That day was one of the worst. Part of me had always held out hope that my mother and I would reconcile. That someday she’d call me and we would talk. But she was already 65 years old. If she hadn’t changed by now, it was unlikely she ever would. A hard truth, one that hit me like a ton of bricks that day. Twenty-seven years after she checked out, I had to face it: My mother was truly gone. Letting go of that hope was devastating.

I felt the bed dip and then the softness of Bo’s fur. He curled up by my head. I shifted to give him more space. But space wasn’t what Bo wanted. He got up and repositioned himself, so his back pressed against my face—a solid and deliberate presence.

He stayed with me the whole night. Eventually, I cried myself to sleep. And, when I woke the next morning, my face puffy, Bo was still beside me, purring gently. In that moment, my heart was so full, I was finally able to say it: “I love you, Bo.”

“Chirp!”

Translation: “I know.”

Love isn’t always easy. I know that better than most. It’s a dance, one that involves give-and-take. Many are taught from a young age. They have people who embrace them, teach them the steps and help them keep the rhythm. Some of us learn this dance later in life when we find the right partners. Others may never learn it. I feel for those people. I thought I was one of them.

Then Mr. Bojangles chose me. He led me out onto the dance floor. He’d been abandoned, but he wasn’t afraid to love and be loved. In time, I danced with new friends and, eventually, a partner who knew when to take things slow. One who I was able to tell “I love you,” because of a little black cat who showed me the meaning of those words.

For more inspiring animal stories, subscribe to All God’s Creatures magazine.

The post A Little Black Cat Showed Her the True Meaning of Love appeared first on Guideposts.

John moved from South Florida to Minneapolis in part because he wanted to live without a car. While walking and biking around his neighborhood, designated a historic district due to its many 100-year-old homes and apartment buildings, he noticed an extraordinary number of windows featuring cats.

Though John doesn’t have any pets himself, he began posting cat photos on the social media channels of a hyper-local news site he’d created called Wedge LIVE! John’s posts grew in popularity and an idea sprouted.

“Our neighborhood historic home tour is so popular,” he says, “and it made me think, What if we did a cat tour? It’ll be weird, it’ll be funny. Let’s just see what happens.”

The Wedge LIVE Cat Tour had a simple start five years ago. John promoted it on social media and mapped out a 90-minute route that included three dozen or so cats. About 30 people showed up and John was pleased with the turnout. A few years later, though, the event went viral, and a local TV station broadcast a story about the 300-person crowd who met to traipse around The Wedge and encounter cats. To create the most feline-filled route, John made a registration form for cat parents. John likes to keep the tour to 1.5 miles, though, so there are no guarantees that the parade will pass by everyone who registers.

What purring posers can one expect to admire along the way? “There are a lot of unusual cat names,” John says with a laugh. And unusual owners too, like the one who walked outside wearing a giant cat-head mask with markings identical to his cat’s. Some folks proudly carry their cats out to be admired, while others, knowing their cat is crowd-averse, just make sure their pet is window-visible. Though most felines perch on furniture, some lazily greet fans from a little hammock suction-cupped to the window. Others come out in strollers, on leashes or in their parents’ car. Then there’s a regular who holds his cat out for admiration from a balcony, like a scene from The Lion King.

One year the police rolled up, enforcing an ordinance requiring folks to stay on the sidewalk and not block traffic. “It stresses me out,” John admits about wrangling a huge crowd. “I also worry about making sure we have a large number of stops, and that people understand this tour is just about seeing ordinary cats. I don’t want anyone to be disappointed.”

Even in 2020, when the pandemic forced John to livestream the event, it showed him the sense of community that his quirky tour created. “It’s really a festival atmosphere,” says John. “It feels good that we’ve made this thing that brings people together. People thank me at the end of the tour like I did this great service. It’s weird! It’s cats!”

If you’re in Minneapolis this summer, follow facebook.com/WedgeLIVE for the next Wedge Cat Tour announcement.

For daily animal devotions, subscribe to All God’s Creatures magazine.

The post This Annual Cat Tour Brings a Minneapolis Neighborhood Together appeared first on Guideposts.

Enter master optician Danielle Crull, who started her practice in Mechanicsburg, Pennsylvania, specifically for youth—infants through teens—who need glasses. In 2002, she opened A Child’s Eyes, the first independent optical shop of its kind in the United States, and now runs the practice with the help of her husband and their three children, who are all in their twenties and board-certified opticians.

Wearing glasses as a kid prompted Danielle’s interest in the field and she jumped in with an apprenticeship right out of high school, before earning her national certifications. Her work with a pediatric ophthalmologist gave her hands-on experience and made her see the need for child-focused opticians.

While her practice was her priority, Danielle also made time to sing in the family band at a nearby church camp. They were a big hit—and not just with people. Stray cats and their kittens would roam around as the band jammed. After one gig, her kids begged her to keep the last kitten from a litter. They already had two cats at home, “but of course they wore me down,” says Danielle. “She was this little growling furball who didn’t want to be held.”

Yet Danielle and the Maine Coon, Truffles, bonded quickly, and the kitten revealed her treat-motivated personality. “That discovery showed me she could be taught very easily,” Danielle says. Truffles quickly learned to sit, stand, high-five and wave. “I’m no cat trainer. She’s just really smart,” Danielle admits.

Truffles first accompanied Danielle to A Child’s Eyes in 2018, joining a bird and hermit crabs Danielle describes as her “weapons to get kids distracted and comfortable.” She fit the fuss-free feline with glasses (without lenses), sizing her frames just as she would for a child.

“She is magic with the kiddos,” says Danielle, whose customers range from four months to 18 years old. “The young children are especially leery after all the testing they’ve gone through. I’ll say, ‘Truffles wants to show you her glasses,’ and she normalizes it for them within just a few minutes.” Truffles also uses her super smarts to allay kids’ fear of testing. She demonstrates how to do a shape test, identifying an apple and a circle with a tap of her paw.

Just like a growing kid, Truffles had to be refitted after a few years. She’ll bat her glasses off when she’s tired but has also been known to fall asleep in them. If a child suffers from amblyopia (a weaker eye) and needs an eye patch, Danielle adds a patch to Truffles’ glasses. And for kids who can’t visit the office, Truffles stars in a series of videos about eye exams and glasses care on trufflesthekitty.com.

“Every day I see Truffles fulfill her purpose through these children,” says Danielle. “If God had a plan for Truffles, then there isn’t anyone on this earth that he doesn’t have a plan for.”

For more inspiring animal stories, subscribe to All God’s Creatures magazine.

The post How Truffles the Cat Helps Kids Who Need Glasses appeared first on Guideposts.

From the kitchen, I listened for the sound of her tapping on her laptop or her and her classmates talking in their Google Meet sessions with their teachers. Nothing. I resisted the urge to check on her. Way too often for my liking, Micah was texting friends and commenting on their Snapchat and Instagram posts about the fun they were having together. My husband and I felt safer erring on the side of caution. We’d barely left the house for 10 weeks straight.

“Mom, everyone is hanging out today!” Micah’s voice echoed from upstairs. “Why can’t I?”

I trudged up the stairs. Micah was lying on the floor wearing pajama bottoms and a hoodie, her laptop, school iPad and cell phone in front of her.

“It’s not fair,” she said. “I have no one I can be with. I can’t wait until I’m 18 and can do what I want.”

We’d had this conversation before. Still, I couldn’t help but feel sorry for her. I was sick of isolating too. Even though Micah and I were home together more than we had been in years, we might as well have been living in separate worlds. 

“Wanna watch Netflix later?” I asked. “Bake some cookies?”

“No, thanks.” Micah shook her head, as if the idea of doing something together was beyond lame.

“In a few weeks you’ll be going to sports camp,” I added. “That’s something you can look forward to.”

I closed the door. I was used to Micah’s rejection, but it still stung. Teenage independence is healthy, but I worried if I didn’t find a way to bond with my girl soon, I might never be close with her again. She’d be 18 in the fall and had already convinced herself she didn’t need me anymore. Maybe she was right. No matter what I did, I couldn’t seem to reach her.

That evening, I logged onto Facebook and saw a friend’s children playing with their new kitten. My mind went back to when I was in high school and our family moved. It was hard making friends. Mom surprised me with an eight-week-old gray tabby that I named Miss Muffet. Having a kitten to love and train brightened my days and got me through that difficult, lonely time.

Micah’s sports camp was a month long, not a good time to take on a pet. As cautious as we were being, I was committed to her going to camp. Campers were required to quarantine two weeks before arriving. The protocol and regulations made me feel safe sending her.

The second weekend in June, I dropped her off. That Monday, June 15, I began praying for our relationship. God, change our hearts. Help Micah and me grow closer.

Within two weeks, the camp closed due to a coronavirus outbreak. Micah had mild symptoms and tested positive. She quarantined upstairs in the bonus room. I left her meals on a tray near the bottom step. I only saw her from six feet away. I couldn’t hug her. I felt her drifting further and further away.

More than three weeks later, Micah finally tested negative. We celebrated with dinner at the kitchen table together. I made her favorite—chicken tenders and mashed potatoes. I couldn’t wait to hear all about camp.

As soon as we sat down, she said, “When can I hang with my friends?”

My heart sank. We’ve been separated for weeks and all she cares about is being with her friends. I needed some way to make being home more fun for her.

“You want to get a kitten?” The words tumbled out of my mouth before I had a chance to think about them.

“Oh, my gosh! Yes!” she exclaimed. “I want an orange tabby. A male!”

A male orange tabby? Where did that come from? I chuckled as Micah rushed to her room after dinner and began making a list of names.

The next morning, I called shelters and rescue groups. No one had any kittens, let alone a male orange tabby. I’d gotten Micah excited over nothing.

Desperate, I posted on Facebook. A friend from church commented. Her cousin had a litter. Micah and I masked up and drove across town.

There were four kittens, two orange and two gray. Micah sat on the floor and tried to coax the more rambunctious orange male to come to her but he squiggled under a desk. The other one waited in front of her, tail curled around his body as if to say, “Hello! What about me?”

Micah picked him up. He started purring. “This is the one I want,” she said, smiling.

In the car, Micah nuzzled the kitten under her chin. I’d never seen such a tender look in her eyes. She posted selfies on Instagram as I drove to the pet supply store. Normally embarrassed to shop with me, she cradled the kitten and walked by my side down the aisles.

“I’m naming him Ron.” She said his red-orange coloring reminded her of two characters named Ron, from the Harry Potter movies and the sitcom Parks and Recreation.

Micah carried Ron into the house. I brought in the supplies and toys, and put them on the staircase. I headed to the kitchen to make dinner.

“Mom, aren’t you going to help me?”

I tried not to look surprised. I followed her upstairs and held Ron while she scurried about the bonus room kitten-proofing everything. She vacuumed, secured cords and stuck babyproof plugs in all the electrical outlets. Breakables or small objects were put away. Who knew she could be so meticulous?

Micah filled food and water bowls and poured kitty litter into the box. She set up a nylon play tunnel.

“I’ve got to get dinner ready,” I said.

“Mom, can I eat up here?” she asked. “I don’t want to leave him.”

I brought her dinner on a tray like I did when she was quarantined. “Will you stay and play with him while I eat?” she asked.

All these months Micah had made it clear the bonus room was her turf and I wasn’t welcome. Now, as she ate, I played peek-a-boo, the kitten waiting at one end of the nylon tunnel, eager to rush at my face when I looked through the other end. We couldn’t stop laughing at his antics.

“Oh, my gosh. That reminds me when our cabin went caving….” Micah launched into a story from camp, without my having to pry for information.

We spent the next five hours petting and playing with the kitten. Micah talked freely. The only time she picked up her phone was to take photos of Ron.

After the little guy ate, I suggested she put him in the litter box so he’d learn where to find it. “He needs you to teach him,” I told her.

A quiet knowing came over me. Just like the kitten needed training, so did Micah. She might be a legal adult in a few months, but my daughter still needed me. It was up to me to be creative—to find ways to continue teaching and reaching her. 

The next morning, I was about to make Ron’s first veterinarian appointment when I realized I’d forgotten to ask when the litter was born. I sent the owner a text. She responded: “Eight weeks old as of yesterday—born June 15.”

A shiver ran down my spine. June 15, the Monday after Micah left for camp. The day I began praying for our relationship.

More than a year later, Micah and I still bond over Ron. We play with him together and laugh and talk. I thought getting a kitten would help my daughter feel connected and needed. Only God knew that the male orange tabby Micah wanted would do the same for me.

For more inspiring animal stories, subscribe to All Creatures magazine.

The post How a Cat Became an Answer to a Mother’s Prayer appeared first on Guideposts.

God, I know it’s been a while, God, but my friend is sick. If you could help him…

I felt something brush against my ankle. My eyes flew open. I looked down to see a flash of black and white disappear under the pew in front of me. A cat! She popped up several pews ahead of me and sprawled out in the main aisle, a patch of sunlight illuminating her fluffy fur.

Intrigued, I walked up to the cat and reached out my hand. She looked up at me with large green eyes and leaned into my touch, purring. She let me pet her for a few minutes. Then, as suddenly as she’d appeared, she got up and sauntered away, disappearing into the church’s shadows.

On my way out, I stopped by the rectory’s office. “There was a cat,” I said. “I don’t know how she got in…”

“Oh, that’s just Gracie,” said the secretary. “She belongs to the church. Helps keep mice out of the food pantry. She’s been here eight years now.”

I loved animals, but I lived in a cramped studio apartment that didn’t allow pets. So the next morning, I got up early and came back to pray, eager to visit with Gracie again. I sat down, and she hopped up on the pew beside me, purring. She made me feel at ease. As if I belonged here.

Over the next few months, Gracie and I forged a lovely prayer partnership. She would approach and politely wait to be invited into my pew and then onto my lap. She took naps while I prayed. Eventually, my friend’s condition improved and I didn’t need to go to church. But I kept it up.

As I sat and prayed with Gracie on my lap, the church regulars would stop and chat with me. They told me stories about Gracie. How she had been spotted during the holidays, curled up in the manger next to the Baby Jesus. How she sometimes drank holy water out of the baptismal font, as if it were her own giant water dish. Gracie made regular appearances during Mass and sat with various parishioners. She had many admirers.

There was a sweet man named Rob, who always talked about his cats, and an elderly woman I often saw praying by herself with Gracie curled up beside her. Her name was Peg.

One day, I walked into the church as usual and was approached by the custodian. “Just so you know, today is Gracie’s last day here at the church,” he said. “Her new owner’s coming to get her soon.”

There had been complaints from some of the parishioners with allergies, and the church thought it best to rehome Gracie. I was heartbroken…until I saw Peg walk through the door, cat carrier in hand. I was so relieved.

“Please stop by and see her whenever you’d like,” Peg told me, giving me her phone number and address. “I’d love the company too.”

I made a habit of dropping by Peg’s apartment every few weeks for lunch and to catch up with Gracie. I soon learned that Peg didn’t have any other friends or family. I was the only one who visited.

After a while, I could tell that Peg wasn’t doing well. Her apartment became increasingly dirty and cluttered. She grew confused and forgetful. I started checking in on her more often. I bought her groceries and drove her to doctor appointments. As she continued to decline, I called around to care facilities to check on availability. I suggested perhaps she should move into one, but Peg was adamant that she was fine.

I hoped she was right, but I gave her building manager my number just in case. A few months later, I got a call. Peg had fallen and broken her arm. After being assessed in the hospital, she was told by her doctors that she would no longer be able to live on her own. She was going to be appointed a public guardian and placed in an assisted care facility. The landlord would clean out her place, but someone had to adopt Gracie.

Immediately, I thought of Rob. Every time I saw him, he asked after Gracie. He missed her terribly, especially since he was grieving the recent death of one of his own cats. When I told Rob my concerns about Peg, we hatched a plan.

We met at Peg’s apartment. If I’d had any doubts about Peg being moved to a care home, they were quelled as soon as we stepped inside. The place was worse than I’d ever seen it, piled high with trash and debris. There was barely enough room for Gracie.

It took quite a bit of convincing to coax her into her carrier, but soon she was in Rob’s car, on the way to her new home.

The first time I went to visit Peg in the nursing home, I was pleasantly surprised to find that she was not only adjusting well but wearing makeup and making friends. Peg had been suffering from dementia and a mood disorder. Now, with the appropriate medications, she was like a whole new person.

Gracie was also thriving. Rob said she was as loving as ever. He sent me plenty of photos. She looked great—her coat was shining, her green eyes bright.

I still keep in touch with Peg and Rob. Recently, I called Peg to chat with her. The nurse informed me she was busy playing cards with friends and would have to get back to me. As I hung up, I couldn’t help but smile.

Peg was in good hands, happier than she’d been in years; I was back on my path with God; and Rob’s grief was soothed—all thanks to a sweet church cat named Gracie.

The post How a Church Cat Brought Happiness and Comfort appeared first on Guideposts.

Having a cat in your life can be an enriching, rewarding experience. My own feline companion, Des, dropped into my life one day in such an incredible way that I know it was meant to be. Here are several stories of other cats who also seemed to be guided by something more and almost divine.

The Comfort Cat Who Saved This Iraq Veteran’s Life

After years of military service, Josh Marino returned home with a traumatic brain injury and PTSD. Hurting and struggling to readjust to civilian life, he considered ending it all… until a stray kitten stumbled into his life and changed everything.

Read Josh’s story here.

How Faith Helped Her Find Her Lost Cat
Sister Sharon Dillon’s cat, Baby-Girl, had been missing for six months. Her father told her she should prepare for the worst. “Sharon, you have to be realistic,” he said. “She’s been gone too long. You’re not going to find her.” But the nun couldn’t shake the feeling that she’d see Baby-Girl again. It wasn’t just a matter of time—it was a matter of faith.

Read Sister Sharon’s story here.

How 3 Cats Helped Her Heal
Marilyn Sansom’s three cats, Schnookie, Ophelia and Simon, were all rescues. They had always depended on her for everything. But after her open-heart surgery, she was the one that needed help. And her feline friends returned the favor.

Find out how…

The Heaven-Sent Comfort Cat
Willow the cat has been a resident of Madrid Home Communities for years. But when she first arrived, nurse Carla Werre was skeptical. She was worried after a cat underfoot would bother the residents. That couldn’t have been farther form the truth…

Read about Willow here.

Pair of Kittens Reunited After 2 Years
When Catherine Herrera told her daughter that she could adopt a cat, she meant one cat—singular. Their apartment didn’t allow more than one animal. But the two kittens they’d found in the shelter, Caramel and Butter, were a bonded pair. Brothers. They picked one, and Catherine promised her daughter that the brothers would eventually be reunited. Was it a promise she could keep?

Find out here.

The Cat of Her Dreams
Marion Bond West wasn’t ready for another cat, not after the death of her beloved Minnie. She didn’t want to ever go through that kind of heartbreak again. But she kept having an recurring dream. A dream about cats…

Read about Marion’s dream here.

A Cat with a Divine Mission
Sula is a cat with a mission—a divine one. She’s not a housecat, but a cherished member of the congregation at California’s Old Mission San Juan Bautista. There, she ministers to those in need, providing comfort and guidance wherever she goes.

Read more about Sula here.

The Perfect Home for This Stray Cat
Mary Nichols already had two cats, so when her daughter found a stray, hungry and alone in a parking lot, Mary had no intentions of keeping her. “We’ll take her for the time being,” she told her daughter. “But just remember, she can’t stay. God will find a loving home for her somewhere.” They’d know it when they found it…

Read the rest of Mary’s story here.

The post A Collection of Divinely Guided Cat Stories appeared first on Guideposts.

“No!” I screamed, running toward the barn.

I sat up half-awake in a tangle of sheets, still enveloped in a fog of fear. Lord, please watch over Two Socks. It wasn’t the first time I’d prayed for a barn cat.

When Two Socks came into my life, it wasn’t by chance. I’d been asking God to send me another kitty. I’d visited animal shelters, hoping to adopt, but house cats and kittens wouldn’t do. I needed a feral cat or a stray that preferred life outdoors. A cat that, in exchange for fresh water, daily chow and a clean litter box, would keep my barn rodent-free. My first barn cat, Jinx, had been my loyal friend for more than a decade, and I missed him every day.

I hugged my pillow, still trying to shake off the vivid dream. Fond memories of Jinx helped me to relax. The big black cat had just shown up one day, meowing on my porch. The moment I walked outside, he boldly rubbed against my leg.

There was no question Jinx was a stray. A feral cat, born wild without any experience of human contact, would never approach anyone. Over the years I had fed a few feral cats in my barn. It had never been more than a distant relationship, but I appreciated their ability to control the rodent population and they seemed grateful for daily cat chow.

Jinx, on the other hand, wasn’t bashful about asking for a handout or accepting attention. He had probably been dumped by some uncaring owner, or possibly he escaped from a car on nearby Highway 40 and then found me.

“I can’t have you in the house,” I explained to Jinx that first day. “My son has asthma and is allergic. But if you want to hang around, I’ll fix you a nice place in my barn.” Jinx happily agreed and had slowly become a fixture on my acre. He’d survived the nearby highway traffic, coyotes, bobcats, mountain lions and owls. He’d tangled with enemies and he’d taken explorations away from the barn, but he always returned. During his absence, I would whisper a prayer, accepting that the nature of predator/prey was not under my control.

After 10 years and my many prayers, Jinx disappeared. For days, I looked for him and visited with all the neighbors in our rural area. Somehow I knew he wasn’t coming home. He’d had a long, loving life, but that didn’t make saying goodbye any easier. My grief over losing Jinx and the predator situation for cats on Blue Mountain had kept me from even considering another barn cat for more than a year.

Then came Two Socks. When I saw the flash of gray leap over the hay in the barn one morning, I had a gut reaction. “Lord,” I whispered, “was that my new kitty?” I poured dried cat food in a bowl, found a clean blanket and placed it in the carpeted cat bed that had belonged to Jinx. It was my invitation. I’d wait for an answer.

The cat food disappeared a bite at a time. A couple evenings later, I caught another glimpse of gray when I went to get an armload of hay for my donkey. “If this is a feral cat, Lord, I’ll be grateful,” I said. Of course, I longed for a stray that might one day warm up to me like Jinx did.

About a week after my first sighting of the gray cat, I heard a meow one morning when I walked into the barn. I looked up into the large green eyes of what appeared to be a domestic shorthair, gray with darker gray stripes and two distinct socks on his hind legs. I thought immediately of the wolf in Dances With Wolves. “I’ll call you Two Socks.” The cat didn’t come any closer, but his careful examination of me gave me hope that he was a stray and not feral.

Weeks passed before he jumped down from a rafter as I poured dry cat food into his bowl. He held his head in an awkward position, and I could tell something was wrong. I put my hand out, but he quickly moved away. He didn’t run but he was skittish. I reached out again slowly and touched the top of his head.

“Okay, that’s a start,” I said to him. Lord, if this is my cat, let me help him.

Anytime he appeared, I talked to him, sang softly and reached out when he hesitated even for a moment. Finally, Two Socks allowed me to touch his neck, and I felt the collar embedded in his skin. My question about Two Socks being a stray was answered. The collar was probably put on by some well-meaning owner who had somehow lost Two Socks. As he had grown, the collar had dug deeper into his flesh. It took days for me to be quick enough to cut off the collar because he refused to let me hold him. Little by little I managed to smear salve on the sore. Once he healed, Two Socks seemed more trusting, but he still wouldn’t allow me to do more than touch him lightly as he ate. We’d come a long way, but we hadn’t established the trust I’d enjoyed with Jinx for all those years—

My terrifying dream grabbed me back into its clutches. Fear held on tight. Was God warning me of danger? The thought fully awakened me. I jumped out of bed, anxious to see if Two Socks was safe at home. From the window, I saw what I first thought to be a scattering of late May snow. With a gasp, I realized I was staring at gray cat fur, strung across the bright green grass. A lot of cat fur…

Something had happened to Two Socks during the night. I started out across the yard. Tufts of cat fur led all the way to the barn.

I mumbled as I walked. “I can’t go through this again. After all these weeks of befriending this cat, if something has happened to Two Socks, I’m done. No more barn cats.” Fear hammered at me. I struggled to trust God in his wisdom. I hesitated at the barn door, took three deep breaths, pushed the fear back and prayed. Lord, I put my trust in you.

I stepped into the semi darkness of the barn. “Meow,” I heard, and before I could quiet my heart, Two Socks leaped into my arms. He rubbed his broad head against my chest and purred out his story of fear and escape. He allowed me to examine him from nose to tail. Other than patches of hair missing, he didn’t have a mark on him. I luxuriated in his sudden display of affection and blinked back a tear. “I know,” I told him. “I know.”

Two Socks cuddled close to my neck as his love motor hummed. It was a beautiful beginning to our deep bonding. My frightful dream had reminded me of another deep bond, mine to prayer. There was so much beyond my control. The safety of my beloved barn cats only scratched the surface. But I had prayer, and an abiding trust that the Lord heard each one. I didn’t have to live in fear, because he would help me find comfort in all circumstances. For that, above all, I am most grateful.

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The post Her Dream Forewarned Danger for Her Beloved Cat appeared first on Guideposts.

There were plenty of cats to choose from, but Cali had her heart set on an orange-and-white kitten. “Actually, we’ve got two of those,” the attendant told us. “Brothers from the same litter, in fact. A bonded pair. We call them Caramel and Butter.”

She brought the kittens to a private room where Cali and I could meet them. For more than an hour, we tried to choose between them.

“Can’t we just take them both?” Cali asked.

“We have to follow the rules of our new apartment,” I said. “Only one cat, remember?”

“I know,” Cali said with a sigh. “But look how much they love each other.”

I couldn’t deny it. They played like the best of friends. When they tired out, they curled around each other, their identical markings creating what looked like a heart. Still, the landlord had been clear about the rules. One cat only. And as long as both kittens got a good home, they would be fine.

After a long deliberation and a lot of tears from Cali, we decided to bring Caramel home. Cali renamed him Ozzy. That night I watched Ozzy and Cali fall asleep together, telling myself, They’ll forget about the other kitten in no time.

How wrong I was. Ozzy really did seem lonely without his twin. No matter how Cali and I tried to distract him over the next few days, he wandered around the apartment, crying, as if looking for his brother.

I told Cali to give it time, but after two weeks of his mournful howls and Cali’s tears, I broke down. I drove back to the shelter with Cali. I was betting on the kittens looking so much alike that our new landlord wouldn’t even realize that there were two of them.

“I remember you,” the shelter attendant said. “But I’m afraid the other kitten isn’t here anymore. He was adopted four days ago.”

Cali was inconsolable, and I was desperate to calm her down. So desperate that, when I opened my mouth, something foolish came out. “We’ll find Ozzy’s brother,” I said. “One day, we’ll adopt him too.”

“Promise?” Cali said.

“Promise,” I said.

What are you doing? I asked myself. I knew I’d never be able to fulfill that promise. But it was the only thing that seemed to bring my daughter some peace.

With time, Ozzy got used to being on his own. And Cali, thank goodness, stopped asking about the other kitten. Our new life was working out just as I’d hoped. I even started dating again. One guy, Brian, seemed promising. I’d met him online and talked to him for months before we planned a date for a night when Cali would be at a friend’s house for a sleepover. Brian was a widower with a daughter, Ruby, just a year older than Cali.

When we finally met in person, Brian and I really clicked. We had a nice Italian dinner, did some dancing, talked about our kids and the many places we’ve lived. Turns out, we’d spent most of our lives within a mile of each other but never met.

After dinner, we swung by Brian’s house. “Ruby’s visiting her grandmother so I can stay out late,” he said. He gave me a short tour of his home, then led me out into the yard. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a flash of orange and white. Ozzy? I thought, shocked.

How had he gotten here? Had I just shared pasta with a guy who’d stolen my cat? There were plenty of orange-and-white cats in the world, but not with the exact color patterns as Ozzy. I’d recognize him anywhere, and right now he was strolling across Brian’s backyard.

“That’s my cat!” I blurted out.

“That’s my cat,” Brian said. “Well, Ruby’s cat really. My wife picked him out herself shortly before she died. She knew he would help Ruby when she was gone. Butter’s a part of the family.”

Butter? Could it be? Had I found Ozzy’s long-lost brother at last? Brian and I compared shelter adoption papers. Sure enough, Butter was Ozzy’s twin! Eventually, Brian brought Butter over to reintroduce him to his brother.

“They might not even remember each other after two years,” Brian said. “We should be prepared for a little hissing.”

But there was no hissing. Ozzy and Butter nuzzled each other with enthusiasm, as if to say, “I know you! Where have you been?”

Today Ozzy and his brother are inseparable. As are Brian and I. He and I married last August and are raising our girls together. And that impossible promise of mine to Cali? Somehow it was one I managed to keep.

The post How a Pair of Kittens Reunited After 2 Years appeared first on Guideposts.

A few years ago, I ordered custom photo magnets online—one for each of our beloved pets, with names and dates just like the bricks. The magnets are lightweight, so they’ll be easy to take along if we move again. The best part is, I get to see my dear friends every day. I miss each and every one and their unique personalities. From those sweet kittens to a collie named Duke and his unlikely pal, Tinkerbell the bunny, every animal Ed and I have loved and cared for will always be part of our lives—no matter where we go.

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The post These Pet Photo Magnets Keep Their Furry Friends Close appeared first on Guideposts.

For the uninitiated what is a cat café?

Brittany: It’s partially a normal café that has coffee and baked goods, tables, and chairs, but there’s a separate living room environment with adoptable cats and enrichment activities where the cats can play. It’s such a beneficial place to help shelter cats get adopted, because they feel comfortable and can let their personalities shine through. That’s why we’ve had so many successful adoptions—more than 550 since the café opened.

How did Eat Purr Love get started?

Brittany: In September 2016, Chrissy Kuras, a veterinary assistant and ongoing animal foster, used the Kickstarter platform for funding while partnering with Columbus Humane to help adoptable cats. We had such a good relationship that when Chrissy moved and wanted to sell in 2018, it made sense for Columbus Humane to buy it.

What makes it different from other cat cafés?

Brittany: Most cat cafés have adoptable cats and partner with an animal shelter. Because Columbus Humane is the owner-operator here, we not only utilize the café to find cats forever homes, but we also educate the public about cats, their care, their diff erent temperaments and how to trap-neuter-release feral cats. And we’re happy to accept donations from guests if they can’t adopt, or they can become volunteers.

Tell us about your tagging system.

Maghen: We have a color-coded system for the cat collars. Each color represents a different personality. Green identifies cats who socialize easily and like to play; yellow signals those who would rather approach you when they’re ready; and purple distinguishes new cats who are shy and may not be accustomed to being petted. We find this really makes it a positive experience for everyone.

Where do the cats come from before Columbus Humane brings them to the café?

Maghen: These cats can be rescued through our Cruelty Investigations Department, or they’re from owners who need to surrender them due to allergies, moving or other circumstances. There are also cats found as strays and brought to Columbus Humane.

You use a different intake system at Columbus Humane, right?

Brittany: Yes! In our previous intake model, we took in every cat that came through our door—stray cats were coming in faster than they could be adopted out and there was a large population of unaltered feral cats but not enough resources to help them all. But a lot of people in our community wanted to help, so our new model allows us to support their efforts. If a cat is feral, it’s spayed or neutered and released. If someone brings in an adoptable stray cat, we evaluate it and provide a first round of vaccines, if possible. Then that same person takes the cat back home, along with a two-week supply of food and litter that we provide. When the vaccines have taken effect, the cat is returned to the shelter to be adopted. If the cats’ personalities fit, they get to hang out at Eat Purr Love. This in take model helps us be more successful placing cats into forever homes.

Which cats get to enjoy this feline heaven?

Maghen: Either social cats, who can handle being petted, or cats who are not that social but can live well with other cats. Maybe their personality doesn’t show while they’re at the shelter, but at the café they come out of their shell more. We normally have 12 cats here at a time.

How do you manage to keep the residents happy?

Maghen: We’ve got it all. Places to climb and perch; the cats can get up high if they need some alone time. There are cat condos, pillows and chairs, all good for lounging. And for more exercise they have a spinning wheel and scratching posts. Visually, we have a few fish tanks and a big window with seating.

You have some creative ways for the community to meet the cats.

Brittany: Yogatos (gato is Spanish for “cat”) makes yoga more fun when you have a cat sharing your mat. We also have Kids & Kitties, where we read a cat-themed book to children—but the cats like to listen too! For adults, we offer Purrs & Palettes, which is a wine and painting event…

Maghen: …but you may have a paw print or tuft of hair on your painting! We had a big cat, Boris, that liked to rub up against the easels, so you had to grab yours quickly if you spotted him coming.

Brittany: And every other month we have a cat-themed movie night, which is really popular.

How does the adoption process work?

Brittany: The great thing about a cat café is, it’s like being in your own living room, so you can see what a cat is like in a home setting. We try to make it a very easygoing process. Once someone fills out an application, we have a conversation with the potential adopter and make sure it’s a good fit.

Who is your most interesting café regular?

Maghen: That would be Judy. She’s a diehard supporter of the cat café and Columbus Humane’s mission. She helped fund the café back when Chrissy had her Kickstarter campaign and continues to support us with donations. She visits fairly regularly—she calls it her therapy. There’s also a couple who drives from West Virginia and spends two hours with us each time. We love our café regulars!

What was the most heartwarming adoption you witnessed?

Maghen: An adoption that will always stick with me is Lane’s. He came in through our Cruelty Investigations Department, after his former owners abandoned him. He didn’t trust people, and it was holding him back from being adopted. Before coming to the café, I worked at Columbus Humane. I would spend some time every morning with Lane, talking to him or sitting with him so that he could lie next to me. He was at the shelter for about seven months. When my role shifted to the café, I asked to have Lane transferred over too. My coworkers and I worked with him every day to help him adjust to other cats and to people. One day he hopped up on the arm of my chair and rubbed his cheek against my face, and I cried. He was adopted in April 2019 and is now loving his new life with his dad.

What is the best thing about working at the café?

Maghen: Seeing the shy or unsocialized cats go from hiding under a blanket to demanding attention from everyone and finding their adopter. It’s really rewarding.

Any future plans for Eat Purr Love?

Brittany: Covid-19 closures have had an impact. We’re searching for a new location for the Eat Purr Love Café with higher foot traffic, more parking and potential for serving food—all to better support the Columbus Humane mission and build an even stronger connection to the community. Check eatpurrlovecatcafe.com for updates on our new location!

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The post See How this Cat Café Sustains the Perfect Feline Community appeared first on Guideposts.