Cleo

Connection

A cat who appears in a dream is no less real than one who pads a kitchen floor.

The psychic cat is connected to the world in more ways than we imagine. She can creep into a kitchen or, just as easily, a dream. Waiting on her favorite window ledge, she knows when her slaves are on their way home to her. Guardian of unworldly powers, she beams a shield of protection over the human household she has blessed with her presence. Sometimes they are aware of her ability to slide between worlds. Mostly they are not.

A couple of months later Rob was still as thin as a sapling in winter and, as far as I could make out from an anxious mother’s perspective, not fully healed. Nevertheless, he insisted on planning an Outback adventure with a couple of old schoolmates—“the boys.” They planned to drive through the desert to Australia’s red heart, Uluru, a journey that would take three weeks. To say I worried was an understatement. Yet I had to accept that Rob had no intention of having an “invalid” sticker attached to his forehead for the rest of his days. He craved a normal young man’s life brimming with adventure, but the risks were enough to turn a mother’s heart to jelly.

I lectured the boys about the Outback being basically a vast zoo for creatures armed for attack. From crocodiles and sharks to snakes, spiders and ants, they’re all expert killers devoid of affection for the human species. Even kangaroos can be killers, crashing inadvertently through drivers’ windows at sunset.

They listened and nodded sagely. They weren’t fools who’d go out of their way to get into trouble.

The only thing that concerned me more than wild animals was the danger of mechanical breakdown. Since his surgery, Rob had been urged to keep hydrated as much as possible. If their vehicle sputtered to a halt in some parched wilderness, lack of water could be a serious problem. The boys assured me they had plenty of spare water on board. Technically, they weren’t boys anymore but young men well beyond the age of consent. I was left with no choice but to trust them.

“What are you worrying about?” Philip asked one night when I couldn’t get to sleep. “Rob’s mates are fantastic. You saw their loyalty when they visited him in hospital every day. They know what he’s been through. They won’t let him down.”

Their beat-up Ford hardly looked ideal for journeying across the vast emptiness of central Australia. They insisted they were prepared with the latest snake-proof camping gear. Imagining them inching across barren terrain under a merciless bowl of blue sky, I wanted to beg them to stay home and do something safe and sensible—enroll in cooking classes, take dancing lessons. Anything but this. But I’d learned enough about parenthood to know there are many times when it’s wiser to keep your mouth shut. I was hoping this was one of them.

Three weeks later, when they were due to return, Cleo paced the hallway. She leapt to the window ledge, stared out at the street, then sprang back onto the floor to start pacing again. She was twitchy as a cobra on a desert highway. When I picked her up we exchanged electric shocks. Her ears flattened. She wriggled impatiently. I lowered her to the floor so she could pace some more.

“Don’t worry, old girl,” I said, talking to myself as much as the cat. “He’ll be fine.”

A waterfall of relief washed over me as their car, red with dust, turned into our street. With Cleo in my arms I ran outside to meet them. Rob uncoiled his considerable length from the backseat to accept with a dutiful grimace my embrace. Strange how the child who once stood on his toes to kiss his mother now bent and inclined his head to receive hers. Running an anxious eye over his entire six feet and more, I noticed his physical condition had, if anything, improved.

“How was it?” I asked.

“Fantastic!”

We persuaded the boys to stay on for a barbecue before they headed off. Basking in the glow of the coals, we watched the stars sparkle to life.

“Nothing like the night sky,” Rob sighed. “Whenever things get too much all I have to do is think of the stars and all the things they look down on. Here on earth we think our little lives are so important. Even though we’re an integral part of everything we’re just tiny specks in the universe.”

Cleo took the opportunity to lick some tomato sauce off his plate.

“I had an amazing experience in the desert,” he continued. “One night when we were camping in a remote spot near Katherine Gorge I dreamt about a weird white cat. It had seven hearts and it was sitting on the edge of an inland sea.”

“Was it a scary cat?” I asked.

“No. It was wise, like a teacher. And it talked to me.”

“Oh no!” I smiled. “Not again! What did it say?”

“It told me I’d been protected for many years by a cat, that the cat had guided me to the right people. It said our world would continue to be racked with sadness and pain until we learn the most important lesson. To become everything we’re capable of we must replace fear and greed with love—for ourselves, each other and the planet we live on.

“The white cat went on to say my cat guide had helped me find love on many levels. There was only one form of love left for it to teach me, and I was already further along that path than I realized. Once I’d discovered that love, the cat guardian’s role on earth would be complete.”

A shooting star scurried across the sky. I was lost for words.

“Funny thing is,” Rob continued. “It was such an outlandish dream I told the boys about it the next morning. I described the shape of the lagoon and the surrounding hills. They laughed when I told them about the talking cat, of course. But then, a few hours later we visited a place that exactly matched the dream landscape I’d described. The lagoon, the hills. They were all there. If I hadn’t told the boys about it in such detail earlier they’d never have believed me. An Aboriginal man introduced himself and told us about the area. He said it was a sacred healing ground. He pointed out seven tall mounds around the edge of the lagoon. For as long as anyone could remember, he said, the local people had called them cats.”

From her vantage point on Rob’s shoulder, Cleo surveyed every human face in the shadows of the barbecue flames and winked.