My cat, Cinnamon and I have always had a special communication with each other. As she was declining last month, I asked her to please let me know in a dream when she was ready to go, ready for me to me to make that decision we all dread -- to say our final good-bye.
It was Wednesday night, August 25. I slept on the living room floor, hoping Cinnamon would sleep near me. I awakened once, warmed to find her lying just a couple feet from my head. I reached out to touch her. I fell back to sleep and then the dream came:
Cinnamon and I went to speak to a young dark-haired man. He was an animal communicator. As I stood there silent, he looked at me and said, "Isn't there something you want to ask me?"
"Oh, yes," I said, as though I'd forgotten why we'd come. "Is it time to euthanize Cinnamon?"
"Yes!!" he said emphatically, while nodding his head just as forcefully. In fact, it seemed his entire body was nodding.
"I get it, Baby Soul," I told her. "I get it." She was purring. My heart was breaking, but I knew what we had to do.
I called the mobile vet the next morning and we honored Cinnamon's desire that afternoon. In all my pain in losing her, there was a comfort in having had such a clear communication from her.
A similar unmistakable dream about Cinnamon came to me years before. Cinnamon had developed hyperthyroidism, and it was a few days before she was to have surgery to remove her "enlarged" thyroid gland. The dream character was menacing as she told me in no uncertain terms that Cinnamon would die if she had this surgery. I canceled her surgery the next morning. After informing myself further about radioactive iodine treatment for hyperthyroidism in cats, I elected to go this route. After they scanned Cinnamon's thyroid gland, they told me it was a good thing I didn't have surgery done because the difference in size was nearly impossible to see with the naked eye, making it difficult to know which lobe of the gland to remove. Although I wasn't wild about exposing Cinnamon to radioactive iodine, it seemed the least invasive therapy over time. The idea of forcing medication down her every day to suppress the thyroid was not a direction I wanted to go with her. The drug route was not without its' side effects. Cinnamon did great with the iodine therapy. She never developed hypothyroidism (the iodine therapy did not destroy the "good" remaining lobe of her thyroid gland), nor did her hyperthyroidism return.
Posted by:
Dawn Kairns
Author of MAGGIE the dog who changed my life
Twitter: themaggiebook
2 comments :
What a beautiful post. You're so fortunate to have had that clear communication about the right time to let Cinnamon go. Even though I know it in no way diminished the pain of losing her, it must have helped.
For me, another aspect of dreaming about our animals has been that it's a way for them to "visit" after they've passed on. I've had this happen with every cat I've lost. Not as often as I would have liked, but I've learned to acknowledge it every single time it happens, and it's a very comforting feeling.
It really did help, Ingrid. I've never had a dream quite so clear.
Like you, I feel dreaming about our animals is their way of visiting us after they pass. The veils between the worlds are thinner, I think, when our conscious mind is out of the picture.
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