They say love comes into your life when you least expect it… and I believe them. Nine years ago my True Love and I moved to Georgia from our home state of Wisconsin. We had dreams, aspirations and expectations of what we would encounter in our new home, many of which did not go as planned. One of the unexpected events was our encounter with an emerald-eyed gray and brown tabby cat.

While raking the yard on a fresh spring day, I couldn't shake the feeling of being watched. I looked around to see if any of the neighbors were out so I could attempt to meet them and say hello. No one was there. I returned to raking but still felt someone watching me. Then I heard a rustle of leaves. Startled, I whipped my head around, positive I'd see someone approaching. No one was there. As I continued to rake, the feeling grew more intense. And then I saw them… those crystalline emerald green eyes that pierced my soul. It was a cat! I didn't care for cats, they scared me. I took a step toward those penetrating emerald globes but they quickly disappeared into the brush.

This happened for weeks, each day the little green eyes would get closer. Each day they seemed to penetrate further into my soul.

Then it happened. She let me touch her. I'd never seen a cat quite like this one. There was something about her that was… well, different. Maybe it was her eyes, some people say that eyes are the passage way to the soul. Hers certainly seemed to be - if cats had souls. Her fur was soft, but dusty from the leaves and freshly raked earth of spring. Was it my imagination or was she getting smaller? I didn't have time to find out. After a few minutes of petting she disappeared again.

* * *

Spring mornings are cold in Georgia, they send a chill right down to your bones… especially living in a basement. Actually I should say "lower level." The home had been renovated and the portion we were renting was fully carpeted, had a nice fireplace, two bedrooms and a half bathroom with a shower. But it was so much darker than the seventh floor haven I had called home in Wisconsin. And, ironically, much colder! The new surroundings took their toll, antagonizing my attempted recovery from burn-out. I did everything I could just to get through the days but depression took over. Then one day I found a plant called a Hyacinth. The purple blossoms reminded me of my favorite Wisconsin shrub, Lilacs! And the fragrance was that of heaven's scent! I placed the hyacinth on the corner patch of grass in front of our patio door. The morning sunlight would shine on it and the dew rising up into mist created a magical aura. Gazing out toward my hyacinth with something that remotely resembled joy, my heart suddenly filled with excitement. There were those eyes! Those emerald-green, soul-piercing eyes. The cat had the same reverence for hyacinths as I did. So began our morning ritual. I watched as she basked in the patch of sunlight, rubbing up against the hyacinth before perching herself in the mist to warm her dew camouflaged fur. For a brief moment each day, my heart began to thaw, along with the frost, in the morning sun.

* * *

Day by day, that cat and I started to trust each other. But she was getting noticeably thinner. And neither my husband nor I really wanted a cat. Neither of us really liked cats. We figured she must be from the area, and put up posters in addition to calling the Humane Society each week to see if anyone had lost a gray and brown cat with green eyes. There were no takers. Soon the cat began to sit outside the window where we ate dinner and cry. No, she did not "meow" as one would expect a cat to do. She cried… her pleas for food sounded like that of a starving infant. But Mark and I agreed, we could not feed her or she would come to rely on us.

We did treat her hospitably and would pet her and share our hammock with her. Her thinning appearance continued to worry us until one day I spotted her trying to eat a dead bumble bee. It nearly broke my heart so I bought the cheapest cat food I could find. (We really couldn't even afford that, things had not gone as planned with our career move to the South!) I filled a bowl with food and beckoned the cat. She looked at the bowl, then looked at me, as if waiting for permission. "Go on, it's for you." Her head disappeared into the food dish for almost 30 seconds. When she looked up, half the food was gone and there were tears streaming down her cheeks. She just stared at me with those misty emerald green eyes. I told her to finish and she did… but not before the tears came to my eyes. Now she had not only seen through to my soul, but had touched it in a profound way.

* * *

Soon after, we moved from our first residency in Georgia to our second and realized we needed to take the cat with us. It was apparent that she had been someone else's cat, (especially finding out she'd been spayed already), but despite our posters, numerous calls to the humane society and even a newspaper ad, no one stepped forth to claim her. And to this day I am grateful!

Along with the move, came time to choose a name. After watching her green eyes blend with the fresh green grass of spring, her gray coat softly shining in the mist, and the tears that had streamed down her face after her first meal with us, "Misty" became part of our family. Although neither Mark nor I knew much about cats, it was obvious Misty had been abused. She was terrified of brooms, mops, newspapers, shoes, feet, and men's voices. When we tried to place her on the couch next to us, she would let out a fearful meow, jump down and hide. If she got anywhere near a car she would hyperventilate.

At first we thought Misty couldn’t purr, but after a while, we heard it for the first time. It was so soft I wasn't sure if she was having a hard time breathing or if she was actually purring. It was so exciting… like hearing your child's first words. Through the years, Misty's purring became louder - and so did her snoring!

* * *

Despite our many concerns, Misty became an integral part of our family. She adjusted to our new home and to us quite well. After a while, she no longer ran in fear of those things that had once haunted her. And I no longer feared that she would harm me. (I had only known "psycho cats" before Misty and was quite nervous around her for a long time.) As our love and trust for one another grew, Misty and I would hold clever conversations during the day. I would ask her questions and she would answer with an appropriate variation of cat-speak. Those who witnessed this always got a chuckle saying that Misty appeared to be speaking English!

Misty soon became our time keeper. Six-thirty AM was the waking hour... and breakfast. (We had to barter for six-thirty by getting her a continuous feeder because she would eat all but five kernels of food over night and frantically pull our hair about 5:30am, scared that there would be no more for her to eat.) When 5:15pm rolled around, Misty would go to the window and wait to see Mark pulling up in the car on his way home from work. If he wasn't there by 5:30pm, she'd pace back and forth from the window to the door, very upset, meowing until he arrived home. Eight o'clock PM meant Fishies, her favorite treat. And yes, she knew when it was daylight savings time! Eleven PM was bedtime and Misty would round up both Mark and I and then snuggle with us on the bed. It was quite a sight! Mark got one half of the bed, Misty took half of my half, and I was left with a quarter of a twin daybed to sleep on. Once we were asleep she would retire to her basket. She always made sure both of us were snuggled in before she'd sleep herself.

Misty not only kept time, she kept us together. She insisted we both be present before going to bed or eating breakfast or dinner. If we were to argue, Misty would jump up between us and rub against each one of us until we would both pet her at the same time, neutralizing our anger with love. Even while watching TV, Misty ensured we were together by jumping up on the couch with us, placing half of her body on Mark's lap and half of it on mine. Whenever Misty was there, so was connection and the flow of love.

* * *

When we made our third move in Atlanta, Misty became an indoor cat. She loved to sit up on the windowsill in our eighth-floor apartment and bask in the sun. She often invited me to join her - and I did. Sometimes we would watch the sunrise and sunsets together. Often, Misty was my calming peace and my companion as Mark's schedule became increasingly hectic. We had a very special connection and I strongly believe the only reason we were lead to that first basement dwelling was so that Misty could become a part of our lives. There was something special about Misty - and I was not the only to feel it. Mark noticed it. Our friends noticed it. Family members that came to visit knew it. They always said, "There's something about her… she's not just your typical cat."

Misty was perceptive. If I had a bad day, she would insist on being near me and rubbing up against me. If I was sick or laid down for a nap while struggling with low blood sugar, Misty would jump up on the bed and nuzzle me to make sure I was OK. She wasn't just perceptive with me, either. My friend Ceiça had moved here from Brazil. During a particularly rough week, Ceiça agreed to watch Misty for us while we were visiting family. Her fiancé was out of the country on business, and her father was in Brazil undergoing a major heart surgery, which Ceiça could not attend because her visa had expired and the company sponsoring her had lost the paperwork. Ceiça didn't care for indoor pets. She didn't understand how people could treat them like their children. She didn't dislike Misty, but she definitely wasn't attached to her. When I called to see how things were going Ceiça sounded really surprised. She told me how she'd come down to check on Misty and our birds, and was feeling quite depressed. She hadn't said anything to Misty, but for the first time since Ceiça had been visiting us, Misty jumped up on her lap. Ceiça's first instinct was to push Misty away, but Misty persisted. She then began to nudge Ceiça to pet her. When Ceiça began to pet Misty, Misty purred… something she never did for "strangers." Ceiça said the oddest thing happened. As soon as Misty began to purr, she felt peace and knew that her dad would be OK. Ceiça believes Misty knew she needed love and reassurance. She felt a special connection with Misty even though she still is not fond of animals.

Misty had that affect on many people. Especially those who had provided her care when we traveled. Because she had abandonment issues, we would find people to pet sit in our home. Our friend Joe drove twenty miles to take care of her and refused any kind of payment. Bonnie would read Misty bedtime stories in her favorite basket. And Mr. Carter was allowed the special privilege of holding Misty on her back and rubbing her tummy. (Joe was the only other person Misty would allow to do this. Not even Mark or I could!) Misty simply had a profound impact and a special connection to people. Maybe it was her eyes. Maybe it was her peaceful state of being. Or maybe it was the unconditional love she offered to those who would take the time to stop and pet her.

* * *

Last year we celebrated Misty's eleventh birthday. According to one vet's estimation we believe she was born on Thanksgiving Day, which could not be more appropriate - for each day we have been thankful to have her in our lives. It was a tough year though, we lost two people whom were very dear to us. One suffered from brain cancer, the other a stroke. Both chose not to continue life support and I was present during the process of the body's transformation. Although it was difficult, it was also a blessing - as was coming home to Misty's loving purrs. I couldn't help but feel that those two incidents, only one month apart, were preparing me for something. I prayed about it and had a dream that it was for Misty's transition. I woke up with sorrow in my heart and told Mark about it. He reassured me it would be OK.

Misty had been in great health for an eleven year old cat, despite a small heart murmur she had since birth. Some of her levels had tested as slightly elevated back in the summer and the vet suggested we put her on a special kidney formula food. We tried to but it was wreaking havoc on her system. As instructed, we attempted to first blend, then wean her from the food gradually as to avoid any additional stomach upset. Misty looked like she was starting to lose a little weight. Then one night this past January she couldn’t even curl up to sleep and had trouble walking. We called the vet and they told us to bring her in the next day.

She showed all the signs of kidney failure. I waited with her while they tried to draw blood. It was heart-wrenching as her blood pressure was so low they had to attempt several syringe insertions, barely able to collect enough to do the necessary tests. The in-house results showed her BUN levels were over 130, indicating severe failure of the kidneys. They had to send another vial out of house to get the exact number but the vet indicated she may only have a few days to live. Misty and I returned home, my heart breaking, and my face swollen from tears. I told Mark and called my family, asking for their prayers. I even asked those who receive the daily positive newsletter I publish to pray on Misty's behalf.

We truly needed a miracle for Misty to live. We got one! After three weeks of giving her fluid injections under the skin to re-hydrate her tiny little body and flush the toxins out of her bloodstream from the kidney failure, her BUN levels went from over 130 down to 37, the normal range! The vet had never seen anything like it. She was concerned at the rapid change but Misty and I both knew we had experienced a miracle!

* * *

We never did find out what her BUN levels had gone up to as the commercial lab mixed up her results. Not knowing how far the kidney failure had originally progressed, we had to take things one day at a time. I gained a whole new perspective of living in the moment. I thought I had always appreciated life, but this time with Misty, having come so close to losing her, and knowing that I just might in the near future, made me appreciate every little minute together. It helped me see greater beauty in her eyes and soft whiskers. It made me appreciate even more the way her fur would glow in the morning sun light. It made me cherish those special looks and sassy little meows she gave us. Mark and I were delighted every time she'd join us to read or watch TV, always snuggling between the two of us, always connecting us as a family with her love.

* * *

Many things happened in the two months after Misty's kidney failure. I had been given the opportunity to work outside the home in one of my "dream jobs" but found no trouble declining as I revered Misty's life more than any job could offer. At one point in my life I would have given anything for this opportunity, now I realized that love and life were much more important to me and I was finally able to let go of the "what if's" that had plagued me for years about this particular conquest.

Another thing that changed during Misty's illness was my drive and need to "get things done." I simply didn't care about my to-do list anymore, her care and sharing love and affection were top priority. Then came the dishes, or the laundry, or the shopping.

* * *

While Misty was affected by kidney failure, she once again came to struggle with abandonment issues. If left alone for more than four hours, she would begin to lick her already thinning fur off until she had a bald patch. This was a wake up call for me. I recognized all the times I had left her, assuming she'd be there when I returned, assuming she knew I would return. I remembered all the times in my life when I wasn't sure a loved one would return for me, from my biological father, to my mom and adopted dad, to my husband. I remember the pain, anguish and utter fear that had engulfed me on several occasions. Was Misty's sudden insecurity a chance to examine my own life and heal my fears through working with her? I believe it was because I became acutely aware of both of our issues; and while giving Misty the time and attention she needed to calm her heart, I was able to mend mine.

* * *

During Misty's final two months, it felt as if I suddenly had a terminally ill child to care for. As I slowly began to realize how many areas of our lives Misty affected, I grew to understand that she definitely was more than "just a cat" to us… she truly was our "baby girl." God knew that I did not want human children to teach and learn from. He knew that taking care of my two younger sisters as a child while my parents worked was so overwhelming for me I feared having my own children. Yet caring for others is a necessary part of our growth. So He sent us Misty, our furry-faced little Baby Girl. I needed her soft little body, her beautiful green eyes, her whisker kissed smiles, and her soft sweet scent near me and close to my heart. More than ever, Misty needed our love, care and total devotion. More than ever, I was able to open my heart to give her what she needed. I was acutely aware of the love flowing through us and the realization that life on earth does not last forever. I wanted to make each minute count.

And I tried to. Even on our frequent trips to the vet. I insisted on being present during Misty's examinations. I took an active role in her diagnosis and treatment. I used the time in the car and during our office visits to give her love and attention. And as I did, something amazing happened, she no longer hyperventilated in the car. In fact, she grew to actually enjoy laying on the back ledge that was meant to hold the convertible top when it was down. Misty had gone from reacting in sheer terror to the car ride to basking in the sun in her special little place of the Miata!

Misty not only transformed her fears, but she transformed the hearts of those who knew her, including the staff at the animal care clinic. She was such a sweet kitty that every time we visited, she found a special place in the hearts of those who were caring for her. That might not seem like a huge accomplishment, but animal clinics are very busy and their "professional staff" are taught to detach in order to give proper care. But with Misty, there was no detachment, only love.

* * *

Things had been going pretty well until Monday, March 12^th, 2001. Instead of Misty's usual "Good Morning" meows that acted as our back up alarm clock if we were not out of bed by 7:00am, there was silence. We found Misty in her favorite little sock bin. She greeted us and walked to the kitchen but had a difficult time. She couldn’t eat and only drank water. This is one of the signs of acute kidney failure. I immediately took her to the vet for more tests. As we feared, her levels were extremely elevated again. Our only hope was to continue the fluid injections and try to get her to eat. The vet looked in the clinic's supply cabinet and found a can of food that one of the boarders had left after taking their cat home. As she placed it in front of her, Misty leaped forward and gulped down the food! Yes! There was hope! The vet and her assistants glowed as we watched Misty eat and eat and eat. No, this was not the end. We still had time.

But Misty's muscles had weakened considerably from the disease. She had fallen several times in an attempt to get up on chairs in order to be close to us. I remembered a chart I'd seen in my chiropractor's office about mis-aligned vertebrae affecting the kidneys. With the falls Misty had taken, it was very possible she had put her back out of place, especially without the muscle strength to hold her vertebrae together. My chiropractor agreed to see Misty, but it had to be strictly "off the record" or he risked losing his license.

Friday morning brought Misty and I to his clinic and to an amazing experience. My chiropractor positioned the fingers of my right hand against Misty's vertebrae, one at a time, while testing the resistance in my extended left arm. He was able to diagnose where Misty's spine was out of alignment by her energy flow through me! All living creatures have electrical currents but when a nerve is pinched, the current is blocked, much like a circuit breaker being turned off. So when pressing on one of Misty's vertebrae which was out of place, I lost strength in my arm! It was an amazing feeling to have physical evidence of our love and energy flowing through one another and something I will always cherish.

Immediately following the adjustment, Misty perked up. She sat up straight for the first time in weeks! Her walk had dramatically improved and she got her "cattitude" back! She was intent on investigating our chiropractor's office (even though we were trying to keep her out of sight.) When we returned home, she insisted on taking herself for a walk in the hallway to greet our neighbors and give them a sassy-sweet meow. She even teased one of the neighbors who really adores Misty. As she would reach down to pet her, Misty would move just out of reach, looking back over her shoulder, as if to say, "Well, c'mon, you know you want to pet me! How much are you willing to work for it?" We all laughed as this ensued almost the full length of the hall.

* * *

It was a wonderful treat seeing Misty so spunky again. That day was such an incredible gift of insight, realizing how much the little things in life make all the difference. It's ironic, during the two months of dealing with Misty's kidney disease, so many opportunities that I had spent years longing for suddenly came up. Some of them I allowed to pass by, some of them, such as taking an anniversary cruise that my husband and I had already booked months ago, I chose to experience. But even the cruise, which was something we had delayed for nine years, could not bring me as much joy as seeing Misty feel good again. It was a perfect day just to see her happy. Just to see life flowing through her fragile little body. To experience the genuine love and concern of another human-being willing to take a risk on Misty's behalf. To witness a physical form of Misty's energy connecting with mine. To see the way that she made other people smile, too. Yes, it was a perfect day. A normal day for most folks. A day filled with so many things we take for granted but that we held with the greatest reverence because these little things had not been experienced in such a long time. For those twenty-four hours, Misty, me, and all those we encountered, experienced a very special gift… The gift of cherished life.

* * *

That perfect day gave me hope. Hope that Misty's life could be pro-longed. Hope that she would not suffer. Hope that we could improve her health. But subconsciously I couldn't shake the feeling that we'd better make Friday, March 16^th, 2001, the best it could possibly be for Misty because it might be her last chance to experience one really good day.

And I'm glad we did.

I awoke the next morning with the startling knowledge that Misty's time here was not long. When I greeted her in the sock bin that she had made her bed, my feelings grew stronger. She gave us her cheerful "Good Morning" meow, but I could tell it was taking all her strength. She tried to make it to her litter box and stumbled. She could not walk to the kitchen for breakfast. Instead, she turned into the dark bathroom. She had been looking into the empty bathroom all week since her kidneys had begin to fail again. Cats instinctively know when they are going to transition and most will run away to find a secluded area where they will die alone. When Misty entered the bathroom we knew that her time with us would be much less than we hoped for… we also knew that we did not want her to pass into eternity by herself.

We sat on the rug and took turns holding her. We ate breakfast together with Misty in the bathroom. Just last week she had rebelliously stolen a peanut butter sandwich off of my desk in protest that I was speaking on the phone and not paying enough attention to her. She never did eat the sandwich she had stolen, but now in one last attempt to give her something to nibble, I offered her a tiny piece of my morning peanut butter. With all her effort, she tugged that bit of bread, stole a tiny lick and allowed it to drop on the floor. It was an acknowledgment of her gratitude for our love and devotion to her.

* * *

We were expecting a guest who was working with Mark on editing a film in our home office. I had to leave momentarily to prepare the apartment but wanted a piece of me to be with Misty. I placed a cherished gold cross necklace I had been wearing on the blanket she was cuddled in, and upon my rising, Misty deliberately put her paw on the gold cross.

After our guest arrived, we moved Misty to the window sill in the office so she could bask in the sun on her favorite blanket one last day and still be close to us while Mark and our guest were working. Misty always loved hyacinths and roses, so while Mark watched over her, I went to the florist and brought back her favorite flowers so that she could bathe in their sweet scent during this sacred time. Upon setting the flowers on each side of her, I noticed that although she was too weak to even raise her head to drink the water we placed next to her, she had pulled her frail little body completely over the gold cross I'd placed near her earlier!

* * *

Misty looked up at the flowers to acknowledge them and nuzzled her head against my hand, but was too weak to purr. We monitored her temperature and placed her in partial sun and partial shade in her favorite spot on the office floor, still on her blanket and the cross. We had promised our guest lunch and I needed to make a quick run to the store for groceries. As I was about ready to check out, Mark called me on the cell phone, telling me to come quickly. Misty had tried to walk toward him but fell over and was having a very difficult time breathing.

I rushed home, praying that she would wait for me. She did. Mark was holding her on his lap. Although we prayed that it would be Misty's choice when it was time for her to leave us, neither of us could bare the thought of her suffering like she was and agreed we would immediately take her to the vet to ease her pain and help her sleep peacefully. I called and made the arrangements, then Mark left the room to prepare for our last trip together. As he did, I thanked Misty for waiting for me to get home and told her that it was OK for her to let go now. She no longer needed to fight, she no longer needed to suffer. As soon as Mark was out of sight, she aspirated and went into a seizure. I hugged her tiny body as it first trembled, then convulsed and told her that we loved her but it was time for her to go home to be with God, assuring her that the angels were with her and that she would be all right.

And then she let go.

I called Mark in to say good-bye. At first he felt bad that he was not with her during the exact moment of her transition. But I believe this was a gift of Misty's love for him. A few years ago Misty had been with Mark when he witnessed me going into seizures and she knew how much it terrified him. We both agree that she waited until he left the room before allowing her body to go into the final shutting down process to spare Mark of an image that would have frightened him.

* * *

We stroked her soft fur and said our farewells, then covered the little body that had housed our Misty's great spirit with rose petals. Surrounded by her favorite flowers, and still showered in sunlight, we left Misty's body alone and went to the bedroom and wept the loss of our little Baby Girl.

Mark quickly fell asleep and when I looked over at him, his face was glowing with a peace and joy that I had never seen in him in the fourteen years of our relationship. I knew immediately that he had seen Misty in his sleep and asked him what he had dreamt about when he awoke. He said he had been playing with Misty. She was healthy and free, leaping in her beautiful feline body in an extraordinary field of flowers. But then something amazing happened. She turned from a cat into a beautiful angel girl, jumping, dancing, and pirouetting high over his head into the air. She had long light brown hair and wore a white linen dress. There was no mistaking it was Misty because her soul penetrating emerald green eyes still shone brightly. Mark and I both know beyond a doubt that Misty was - and is - our special angel.

* * *

Mark's dream was yet another way for Misty to bring us closer together and keep the love flowing between us. She always made sure she connected us together, whether it was sitting on both of our laps watching TV, sleeping cuddled between us, or prompting us both to pet her at the same time. Mark's dream was one more gift of connection from our little Misty. Understand that unlike me, Mark is usually not a very intuitive or "spiritually connected" person. I've had several premonitions and revealing dreams in the past. Mark has not… ever. This was Misty's way of allowing Mark to be present for her last good bye. It was also a gift of joy and comfort for us as we know her soul has graduated.

Misty has since sent us several "signs" and we can still feel her presence on occasion. To the logical minded, it might sound hokey, but if seeking physical evidence of the miracles, one only needs to look to find it. I think of the passage which instructs us to entertain strangers for you never know when you are in the company of angels and I know beyond a doubt that we were indeed in the company of a tiny angel for nine blessed years. She may have been cleverly disguised as a cat, but she was, is, and always will be our Angel Girl.

We love you, Misty. Thank you.

* * *