Soul Companion; Shaman Ayes

Congratulations, Einstein, yes, I am a cat!

Beyond the obvious observation, can you hold my gaze while I tell you about myself? No, I cannot talk, per se, however, my mum of a different breed channels my innermost thoughts. Marilyn is not my owner; I am not a pet. A cat shall never be owned. Instead, she is my soul companion, my human counterpart, my protege, dare I say, who holds all my knowledge.

16 years young, I am, but my spirit dates centuries. I am most wise. Reincarnated, healer, keeper of life secrets- a shaman feline. Self-defined, perhaps, but my soul is mirrored in my eyes. My presence inspires deep thinkers via rapid eye blinkers, unmatched by my non-blink blink.

Post-read nod, you will oblige. Through a lens, I anticipate your ayes.

How did we meet?

Marilyn, okay, Mum, saw me one day when she frequented a local discount store. Passing by a panty bin, you know the kind with various non-packaged women's underpants for easy access shopping. Well, yours truly was napping on top of sorted silky sexy reds when she spotted me.

I still remember her laughter-most annoying, really, but I was trying to get some shut-eye. I am a cat and we value our rest.

Anyway, my now-mum was beside herself with elation and she just had to stop and pet me and do that funny baby talk thing humans love to do when they chance upon four-legged furry beings.

I was a younger fella then and a sort of discount store attraction. My previous handler (or so he thought) was the store owner and I lived at the shop, meaning when the lights went out and he went home, I stayed behind- ALL ALONE.

Marilyn began visiting more often after that day, and a couple of years later when the store owner finally realized I needed more than he could provide, I was gifted to her.

The truth is, I chose her. Disciplined head nudges to the man paid off and spoke to his conscience. It might have taken a year or two, but, hey, I never said he was the brightest apple in the bunch. But eventually, my spirit spoke to his.

Finally, one day I went home with her, the woman I chose to accompany me for the remainder of my feline existence.

Aye, the woman needed me. Such spiritual potential was her birthright yet she was most unaware. There was much work to do, but this kitty was determined to get the job done.

And I did, indeed.

Morgan Freeman, think Morgan Freeman when you look at my photo. This is the voice my mum, (I mean Marilyn) and I agreed on. She wanted to go with Vincent Price but I told her the vibe was too far beyond the grave for my taste, so we compromised and Morgan it is.

After all, I have a reputation to uphold, not just for myself, but for all the other cats who still, even in our modern day, get a bad rap.

Aye, I can't believe it still happens but superstitions and haggard old wives' tales sure are a mutha f*****.

Back to my story.

Keep up with my dictation, Marilyn...

Ahem, hem, so, back in the day, my newly discovered soul companion had a household of teenagers. Curious spectacles, they were, but such a delight to observe and cuddle with.

At that time, Marilyn worked long hours and on her off days, she slept a lot; too much for my taste but I remedied that.

Imagine my 20-pound self firmly planted on her torso. Of course, she awoke, and rightly so. Ladies do not sleep until noon, you know. I should know. In my past lives, I've encountered many a royal, and this behavior is simply inappropriate.

Besides, only cats are allowed this sort of thing. It's in our blood.

Adjusting the sleep schedule restored the pep in Marilyn's step and began opening her eyes to other things.

But before we go there, I must mention another much-needed adjustment: MY DIET.

The woman who came to nickname me her "Snuffle Bunny" (yes, I let this slide) learned quickly that I am not a Meow Mix kind of guy. After a couple of uneventful attempts, she realized I do not eat such atrocity. Iams, only Iams, otherwise, a sniff, a heckle (swift tap to the bowl), and a strut off in a snit was the tumultuous result.

And then, the yowling, but, hey, I have my standards.

So, my dear Marilyn discovered an intimate detail about me by chance, or perhaps my persistent in-her-face appeal that turned her on to my longest-held secret.

I am an angel.

I know, I know, you must think I am conceited, but I only speak the truth.

One day while grooming my lion-tufted necklace and marble-layered fringe, she spotted them- MY WINGS! Etched in fur, body-side to side, are grey wings, engraved like magick, an angel's kiss, confirming my spiritual presence.

Mayhap I will allow a photograph upon closing to validate my revelation.

Photo proof, let's raise the roof for one life partner kitty. I am more than just pretty!

Life partner, there, I said it. above all else, I am Marilyn's life partner.

My emerald eyes feel all the feels

Arctic appeal

Hot on her heels- I am the real real

Squishy belly

Jiggle jelly running- stunning

Hardwood floor thumper

Kitchen traffic, bumper to bumper

Outdoors might call

But I'll never dump her

Catnip elixir

Maestro mixer

Spiritual fixer

Miss to my MR

Two lives, one line

Hers and mine

Flash forward to today:

Marilyn finally gained her Reiki attunements. She is a Reiki Master. A once long halted process, one that I could not simply sit by and watch her ignore.

Years together, she has grown; admittingly, I have, too. One human, one cat brought together by nothing relative to coincidence. Kawinkidinks are never contingent on how my mind thinks.

And HOW exactly my mind thinks, well, you will never quite know for sure, but that is the beauty of it all.

I am a cat, never owned or dominated but truly a testament to all that equals love, healing, and guidance.

A self-confessed shaman; believe it or not, the choice is yours. Marilyn believes. She saw the wisdom in my eyes. She felt it.

Now what about you, do you believe me?

Better question: Would Morgan Freeman ever lie to you?

Thanks for reading! This was an enjoyable challenge. Max and I thank you for stopping by!