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Some four years after Toby's death, I was engaged for a short time as a psychological consultant for a Tyne Tees Television programme called
Friday Live
. On a wintry night in January, after one of the shows about the topic of âPsychic Phenomena and Clairvoyance', the celebrity cast and I were enjoying the TV company's hospitality at a local hotel. One of the psychic experts, who had been demonstrating her skills on this particular programme, stopped by my chair as I was sitting chatting with some of the cast.
Placing a hand on my shoulder to attract my attention she leaned close to my head and, speaking in a hushed voice so that only I could hear, she gave me an astounding message.
What she said brought tears to my eyes and yet, oddly enough, always gives me comfort whenever I think of it, even if I find it hard to believe.
She said: âI am tired out with my efforts this evening but I just had to tell you what I've seen because it might be an important message for you. When you walked over to the bar just now I was aware of a spirit animal following you. Did you once have a black-and-white cat that you cared for very much? The initials T and J come to mind. Does that have any meaning for you?'
Choking back long-forgotten emotions, I was quite unable to speak. I simply nodded.
âWell,' she said, smiling at the look on my face, âhe's sitting on your shoulder right now!'
Denis O'Connor trained as a psychologist and teacher. Throughout his career he taught in schools and lectured in colleges and universities. He holds a Doctorate in Education and Psychology and has contributed widely to academic books and journals.
Paw Tracks in the Moonlight
is an account of an extra special period in his life. He is retired and presently lives with his wife Catherine, and three male Maine Coon cats, Pablo, Louis and Max, in a remote country cottage in Northumberland.
The silver she-cat had raked together a rough nest of straw for her two kittens.
He looked the picture of a miniature Toby Jug, and that would now have to be his name.
As a special treat I drove down to the beach for a view of Lindisfarne.
The tomato thief exposed for all to see.
There came a sszzzzing down the chimney as another bee dropped.
We remained for long moments captivated by the sunset.
We prepared to leave camp watched by many unseen eyes.
We sat in the moonlight by the weir, watching the salmon below.
Toby Jug gave a piteous whine, and appeared on a branch just annoyingly out of reach.
Dirty and bedraggled, with the pathetic look of a waif, as I'd never seen him before.
Walking with Toby Jug in the Cheviot foothills in a rainstorm.
We fed the ducks and swans at Bolam Lake and wished them a âHappy Christmas'.