Sneaky, Izzy, and The Smurf — A Tale of Three Kitties

Part Four: Isabella The Pleiadian Queen

Born on Beltane in 2004

Died on Diwali in 2014

Izzy, your fiery and loving spirit lives on in our hearts and memories.

Bred to be a mama cat and then fired from that role, she waited another three years for us to come along. I’ve already written extensively about our first meeting with and the adoption of Izzy and The Smurf here. And, of course, you can begin at the beginning of our kitty journeys here.

By 2011, our second year in Ojai, Izzy had become a much more healed and relaxed version of herself. Oh sure, I could still work her up and get her to swat at me if I wanted, but at this point, it was all play. She loved a good game of scary peekaboo. I would duck behind the wall of the kitchen alcove and then pounce out at her as she waited for me on top of her kitty condo. She would laugh and swat at me and look at me to do it again. She never felt threatened any longer by Jon, me, or any other human and would let people handle her, pet her, and even touch her belly without issue.

She became even more involved in our work and loved nothing more than launching herself into the lap of one of our students back when we hosted channeling classes and channel shares in our home in Ojai. The Smurf would sit atop one of the speakers in the living room just outside of the circle comprised of couches and the odd assortment of chairs we had gathered for classes, two of which we grabbed in front of our next-door neighbor’s house when they had put them on “the curb” (we didn’t have curbs in that neighborhood or even sidewalks, Meiners Oaks is a rural small town, and when we went for a walk there, we walked in the street) as giveaways. A few years later, Jon and I would put those same chairs out in front of our house, and the neighbor we took them from took them back, not remembering they had been hers in the first place. Just a funny small-town life aside.

Channeling classes are often an emotional experience for those participating. There is deep healing in opening up to the unconditional love generated by those who exist in light body form as our companions. Major obstacles to receiving this love must be confronted and at least partially cleared for these connections to happen. Izzy was an expert at choosing the exact human in the class who needed her the most.

“Everyone else has been super emotional and crying, and I have not felt much of anything,” a student, tucked into the middle of one of our couches, exclaimed.

A few minutes later, Izzy sauntered over to her feet, jumped onto the couch, and settled herself into her lap. She began to pet Izzy as Izzy purred loudly. Within minutes, she was sobbing. “I don’t know why I am even crying!” she said as the tears continued to stream down her face.

Izzy was an automatic heart opener, facilitating the removal of barriers to love with her love.

“I think I found my guide!” said another student of ours through his tears during the first channeling class Izzy had assisted us with. She then jumped on the coffee table, very slowly and deliberately took a chocolate chip cookie bar I had baked for the class in her mouth, and in slow motion started to jump off of the table as Jon grabbed her and said, “Not so fast, Schmizman!” as he took the treat from her. She was never a food stealer, so this was all just for show and to make us laugh, which we all did. She loved to make us laugh.

As she and The Smurf were granted access to the outdoors in Ojai, leaving the life of being under house arrest they had lived in first in the home they were bred and then in our beachhouse in Encinitas on a busy street, they became more relaxed with one another. With their territory expanded, Izzy was no longer nearly as territorial with things in the house like our bed, the cat condo (also procured from a neighbor who put it out in front of their house), the tables, toys, you name it. She and The Smurf developed more of a bond, and our home became more harmonious.

The Smurf (aka Ursula) and Izzy

In August of 2013, after fours years there, some big excitement arrived in the form of a seven and a half week old puppy named Zoey. Puppy Zoey was a maniac. Half border collie/half lab, she had the energy of all twelve of her littermates rolled into her sweet little body. When she wasn’t sleeping, she was running, playing, and biting, on repeat. If you’ve raised a puppy, well, you know what little alligators they are until their adult teeth start coming in at four months. (You can read Zoey’s story here.)

We had no idea how integrating a puppy into our cat home would go, yet we trusted that it would all work out, considering the magical unfolding of how Zoey had appeared in our lives. We had spent considerable time with her and her siblings for four weeks, and Izzy and The Smurf had gotten used to her scent. For the week leading up to Zoey’s homecoming, we had many conversations with the kitties, letting them know they’d be safe and loved, and that we’d make sure integration would go smoothly.

We’re Getting a Puppy

Izzy’s dreams of being a mama were realized with Zoey’s arrival. The story we were told is that Izzy had one litter of kittens, and then it was decided that she was not cut out for the role and was spayed. Perhaps she did not enjoy being a mama to her kittens, but with Zoey, it was all love and nurturing, all day and night. She helped us raise Zoey from the second we brought her home throughout Zoey’s first year with us.

We introduced them on the front steps, with treats for all, and this is what happened just a bit afterward.

and continued to happen daily

Izzy snuggling her big baby, Zoey

In the fall of 2013, a month or two after Zoey came home with us, we noticed Izzy was having some breathing issues. We took her to the vet, and they diagnosed her with probable asthma (very hard to diagnose in a kitty, we were told). We saw two vets, one traditional and one trained in Chinese Medicine and acupuncture. Izzy responded beautifully to the acupuncture and herbs and was herself again quickly.

A year passed, and Izzy helped us raise Zoey. The Smurf stayed out of the parenting of this wild child, as Zoey was a bit much for her. Zoey loved them both and did not understand that The Smurf did not like to be chased or played with. Izzy, on the other hand, loved everything about Zoey. They were inseparable, and any remaining anxiety that Izzy had melted away in the presence of Zoey and her love.

In the fall of 2014, we again noticed that Izzy seemed to be struggling with her breath.

“It’s the pine pollen,” our vet said while in our home, again applying the needles to Izzy, who, remarkably, this kitty who would not let me touch her belly just six years earlier, sat quietly while being poked. She was better for a few days and then was worse again.

We took her to our other vet, and they prescribed steroids given in pill form. A few hours passed and she was not any better. I called our vet’s answering service as it was after hours, and he called me back almost immediately. He and his wife, all dressed up as they had been at a local event, met us at the office, which he opened up after hours to see us. It was his practice, we’d seen the other vet there that afternoon. We brought Zoey with us as she was still not happy about being left home alone, and she loved this vet. Plus, she wanted to keep Izzy company. I think she already knew what none of us wanted to face.

Zoey comforts Izzy on the way to the vet

“She should be fine now,” he said after giving her a steroid injection. Off we went.

She was not fine.

She continued to struggle to breathe as we waited for the steroid injection to work. At around 11:00pm, I suddenly knew she was leaving us. I got off the couch to sit with her on the floor. She’d been lying in the corner for a bit after being restless and having a hard time settling. Zoey came and sat next to me. I put my hands on her and she started to seize. I hollered for Jon as I said to her, “It’s okay, Izzy, you can go. We’ll be okay.”

She seized one last time and then died with my hands upon her, Jon behind me, and Zoey at my side.

Zoey began howling and barking and would not stop. It was a combination of grief and frustration that her favorite being in cat form was no longer there. Izzy left quickly; her transition was as sudden as her physical death, as she immediately rejoined her Pleiadian counterparts in etheric form.

Zoey continued to bark and bark.

I went into the backyard to let our landlord know what the noise was about, and then went across the street to our neighbor’s house. It was near midnight, but their lights were still on, which was unusual for them.

Noah, sixteen at the time, answered the door, confused that I was there so late.

“Izzy just died,” I said to him through my tears. His confusion transformed to compassion as he hugged me while his mother, Nancy, joined us. She walked across the street with me and into our home, where Zoey was still loudly grieving her loss.

I had managed to get a blanket underneath Izzy before she passed, and I pulled it with her on top of it into the center of our living room. Zoey stopped barking, walked over to her, lay down with her, and rested the tip of her snout on Izzy’s forehead, silently grieving her, her confusion now gone. Izzy was dead, and she understood.

We watched the beautiful and terrible scene unfold in front of us, as Zoey’s experience of Izzy’s loss became more important in that moment than our own. Her grieving was unconditional, just as the love the two of them shared had been. She lay there for about ten minutes, completely still, with her cat mama as Jon, Nancy, and I observed. She then got up, acceptance setting in, and tended to us with kisses and love.

She gave a master class on the stages of grief in our living room that night, this one-year-old puppy of ours. Denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance, Zoey moved through them all, unencumbered, in less than an hour. While Jon and I grieved for longer than she did, her freedom in moving through her experience accelerated ours.

It is never easy losing a beloved animal family member, whether the death comes out of the blue or is expected. Izzy’s death was startling, yet looking back, it was clear that she was leaving us; the three vet visits over a few days should have been an indication. Two of our vets visibly expressed their grief about Izzy’s passing when I told them. She was a force.

In the days that followed, after much internet reading, I came to the conclusion that Izzy died of congestive heart failure, also very hard to diagnose back then and something that Maine Coons are susceptible to. She experienced some other things the night she died that led me to believe this. She had a big heart, and it just makes sense to me on some deep level that ultimately it was her heart. She raised Zoey. She was done.

Izzy does not visit us the way our other beloveds who have passed do. Sometimes I see Sneaky Le Boo (a black blur of energy) run through the apartment to let me know she’s still with us, and if you follow my work as a channel you know where The Smurf/Ursula wound up, her story has yet to be written here in this series. Izzy, however, does not individuate for us in etheric form as the other two do. Instead, Izzy has returned to us through the body of this being we know as Sookie, who recognized Jon, Zoey, The Smurf, and me the second she met us all.

Zoey and Baby Sookie

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