Animals and the Afterlife (5 page)

Because Jameth and I regularly gave lectures and workshops, and we had a published book with our photo on it, people often recognized us around town. One day, while shopping at a local health food store, a grown woman approached Jameth excitedly, clearly recognizing him.

“Aren’t you June’s dad?” she asked with delight. We soon learned who the celebrity was in
our
family.

June seemed to just
know
who the friendly people were, and from whom to keep her distance. When a friend of ours brought a woman over to our home to discuss our health products, the woman looked uptight and mentioned that she didn’t like “the rat’s naked tail.” Our friend responded, “I can only imagine how June would feel if she saw
my
naked tail—she’d be horrified!” The woman smiled and relaxed, and June’s charming presence soon stole
her
heart as well. June managed to change many people’s perceptions of rats. She was truly a little ambassador for ratkind.

O
NE DAY
, I
WAS IN A PANIC
because I couldn’t find June. I searched frantically for her, fearing the worst. Eventually, I discovered that I had accidentally closed her in the closet. She was nestled in a small basket, where she had apparently been enjoying an afternoon nap. She gazed peacefully out at me, obviously enjoying her new haven. She looked at me as if to say, “Relax … everything’s fine.”

Another time, I found June burrowed deep inside an oversized basket filled with crumpled, recycled shipping paper, which we used to ship gifts and health products to family and friends. Unable to resist such perfect nesting material, June had created an elaborate nest in the middle of the basket and began taking her afternoon naps there. From then on, a common sound in our home was that of June shredding paper as she constantly refined her nest. I was worried that we might accidentally ship
June
amid a wad of shipping paper, and I often found myself opening sealed packages to make sure she wasn’t inside. So, for June’s safety and my sanity, I decided that I must dismantle the nest.

One day while June was out eating her lunch, I removed all of the shredded paper and assorted nesting materials that June had gathered, and I relocated the materials. I figured June, being a rat, would have no trouble constructing a new nest elsewhere. It’s what rats
do
.

Later, June headed toward her former nest. She climbed to the top edge of the basket and looked horrified as she stared into the emptiness. She climbed down to the bottom and ran frantically back and forth. I felt horrible as I witnessed this. I’d had no idea she would take it this way, but I now realized that I had violated her personal property. This was her haven, and I had no right to take it away, especially without warning her.

She appeared desperate and furious. Then she climbed out of the basket and just flopped down on the floor like a noodle. I reached for her, but instead of climbing onto my hand as she normally did, she remained motionless. I picked her up and she was completely limp. I felt I understood exactly what she was feeling. She had clearly gone into a depression, and any doubts I may have had regarding the emotions of animals were completely obliterated in that moment.

I began to worry when she didn’t snap out of it. I brought her peace offerings, but she refused to eat even her very favorite treats. Then I found her a smaller basket, filled it with nesting materials, and presented it to her. She ignored me. I continually checked on her, until finally, my heart was warmed as I heard the “rip, rip, shred, shred” of June settling into her new nest. It was over, and I had learned a valuable lesson.

June and I became extremely close. For my birthday, Jameth surprised me with a homemade cake (healthful enough for June to partake of); and when I approached the adorable scene of a candlelit cake with June sitting at a distance from the cake, atop of pile of gifts, I instantly knew that June was at that distance intentionally.

“Oh, you poor thing; you singed your whiskers, didn’t you!” To me, it was written all over her face, though one couldn’t tell from merely looking at her already dark gray whiskers. I picked her up, gave her a kiss, and tried to comfort her. Indeed, Jameth assured me, she
had
singed her whiskers before I had entered the room. No real damage had been done, but it had been just enough to scare her.

“How did you know?” he asked.

“I’m not sure,” I replied. “I just knew.”

T
HERE WAS AN UPCOMING
M
ARCH FOR THE
A
NIMALS
in Washington, D.C., which I had been looking forward to ever since the previous one, which I had attended six years prior, so Jameth and I made plans for the out-of-town trip. It is a cause we both feel very strongly about, and June’s presence had only strengthened our conviction. At the same time, I felt apprehensive at the thought of leaving June, but I didn’t feel it would be safe to bring her with us. I almost decided not to go, but then I thought back to the previous march and regretted not having done more on behalf of animals in the years since then.

We wondered who would stay with June while we were away. Out of the blue, my brother, Scott, called. He worked in the movie business and had just completed an out-of-town project. He would be coming through San Diego and would need a place to stay for a week or so; the timing was perfect. So we arranged for “Uncle Scott” to stay with June.

June somehow knew we were leaving and wasn’t happy about it. We wondered how she knew, but she clearly did. On departure day, she ran desperately between us and our luggage and looked me pleadingly in the eyes. As I sat down in the closet to put some final items in a suitcase, June hopped up onto my lap and wouldn’t leave. Her eyes began to water, a sign of stress in rats (and people, too, now that I think of it). She appeared highly stressed as she looked straight up at me. I regretted the decision to go without her, but there wasn’t enough time to figure out how to safely bring her along.

I
felt
her communicating with me, begging me,
Please don’t leave me. Please don’t go
. My heart broke, and I felt a huge lump forming in my throat as I held her close to my face, looked her straight in the eyes, and made a promise to her.

“June,” I said softly, “I promise you, we’ll be back soon.”

At first I couldn’t find the plane tickets and almost felt relieved that we’d miss our flight. However, I found them just in time, and we departed. While we were away, I missed June and worried about her constantly. I called home daily (at least) to check on her and make sure everything was okay. I got the feeling June was worried about us, too.

When we returned, June seemed upset with us. However, she only remained upset long enough to let us know how she felt about our having left without consulting her first. Then she returned to her happy, affectionate self. I noticed this and realized that human relationships could benefit from this type of clear, in-the-moment expression of true feelings, followed by a rapid letting go. Animals just don’t seem to hold grudges (or hide their true opinions) the way humans often do. We could learn a lot from them. Over time, June taught me that expressing emotion is not a weakness; it is a sign of strength and depth.

Jameth and I had made prior arrangements to cat-sit at a friend’s house the night we returned home. Mere hours after returning, we left again, and June stayed home with my brother. I’d missed June terribly but reminded myself that it was only one more night.

The next morning, we received a frantic phone call from my brother—June was quite ill. We rushed home and took her to the vet, only to find out that there was nothing physically wrong with her and that all of her symptoms were stress-related. She seemed to be expressing the same stress that I was feeling.

“June,” I said as I held her close, “I will never leave you again. I’ll never go on a trip without you again. I promise.”

And I kept my promise.

She rapidly recovered, and life returned to normal.

Sometimes June got the hiccups, and Jameth and I had learned to put our hands on her body and send her calming, healing energy. We didn’t know whether it was a coincidence or not, but the hiccups always promptly disappeared. Early one morning while I was out running errands, June climbed back into bed with Jameth. He noticed that she was hiccupping all the way. She went straight to him and nestled herself right under his hand as if to say, “Please fix my hiccups.” She was very deliberate about it. She remained in this position only until her hiccups disappeared, then she promptly got up and trotted away. Jameth had been told many times that he had “healing hands.” Apparently June thought so, too.

D
URING THIS TIME
, my parents were living nearly three thousand miles away. The past several years had been very hard on them. My mom’s elderly grandfather’s health had begun to fail, and my parents had moved from California to Florida to help my grandparents (my mom’s parents) take care of him. My grandparents weren’t in the best of health either. My dad’s parents had already passed away, and he regretted having left some things unsaid, so he wanted to make sure they were there for my mom’s parents.

Dealing with various health crises, first of my great-grandfather and then of my grandparents—as well as the fact that the company my dad worked for went bankrupt and a lot of people suddenly lost their jobs—was almost more than they could handle. On top of it all, they constantly felt torn between taking care of my grandparents and missing us. We had always been a very close family, so the distance took its toll on all of us. However, my grandparents had established a life in Florida, where they had retired after leaving New Jersey, and Jameth and I had established a life in California, where I grew up. My parents were caught in the middle.

Eventually, my great-grandfather passed away with my mom by his side, and things became more stable for my grandparents. Meanwhile, Jameth and I were still overburdened with work and needing some assistance with our growing business but not yet in a financial position to hire any employees, and my parents were hoping to come back to California to help us out. So my dad came for a visit and stayed with us while he searched for a local job and housing. My mom couldn’t take the time off work, so she had to stay behind. I hadn’t seen her in nearly two years.

During his stay, my dad and June grew quite fond of one another. He and my mom had always been supportive of all the rats and other animals who shared our home in my youth, but now he repeatedly commented, “Of all the rats I’ve ever known, Juney is my favorite.”

We all enjoyed his visit, though he didn’t have much luck with housing or jobs. Before long, the day arrived for him to head back to Florida. His bags were packed and he was preparing for his ride to the airport. It had been wonderful to spend time with him, and we were going to miss him. We said our sad, awkward good-byes, and as he turned to hug me, I noticed tears in his eyes. It seemed that, in that moment, all of the pain that had been building up inside of him, for countless reasons, was now bubbling up to the surface. I had never seen him so choked up, and as I searched for words of comfort, I heard a rustle nearby.

We all heard it, and as we looked down, there was June, perched up on the edge of an oversized wicker basket nearby, as high as she could climb. She was looking straight up at my dad and reaching up to him very intently with both of her delicate little arms, which she had never done before. He reached down to pet her, and she very deliberately climbed right onto his hand, up his arm to his chest, and just clutched him and looked up at him. He held his hand up to support her, and she clasped his hand with her own tiny hands and looked him in the eye. It was clearly June’s turn to say good-bye.

He then tried to put her down, but she climbed right back up to his chest, clutched him tightly, and resumed eye contact. Of course, June couldn’t speak, but in that moment, you wouldn’t know it. In her own special way, June spoke volumes. We could all but hear her saying softly, “It’s okay, Grandpa. Everything’s going to be okay.” In that moment, we were all deeply moved. The love and compassion we felt pouring out of that little creature known as June was almost overwhelming.

Not wanting my dad to miss his flight, I reached out for June so that he could go. I was definitely June’s “mom,” and she always came right to me, no matter who was holding her. But not this time. She looked back at me and all but shook her head as she clearly communicated, “No, Grandpa needs me now.” She made it clear that
he
needed her at that moment, to comfort him, and he was touched immensely. She continued clutching onto him, looking right up at him, and communicating in that language beyond words. We all felt it.

“I love you, Grandpa. I’m going to miss you. I really love you,” she seemed to say. She stayed there with him, and time stood still as she filled him up with pure, unconditional love. He was deeply moved. We all were.

Once June had completed sending her message of love and comfort, she climbed back down. The whole mood in the room had changed, and my dad left in peace.

I found out later that he had thought about that encounter during the entire flight home, and he had even told the passenger next to him about June, with a smile on his face. Once he had arrived in Florida, he had shared the story with anyone who would listen (as my mom informed me later). To this day, he holds that warm memory, that sweet gift of love and nurturing, in his heart. As do I.

I
HAD SEEN SIGNIFICANT EVIDENCE
that June was not only able to feel and express her own emotions, but was also able to empathize with others.
So much for the theory that animals don’t have emotions,
I thought to myself. I contemplated all of the things I had learned from June, and how much my life had changed since she first entered it. For years, I had put too much pressure on myself and worked much too hard without breaks. No amount of meditation or spiritual discipline had ever managed to bring me into a state of peace the way June could. She taught me to live in the moment, not worrying so much about things that didn’t really matter. No matter how busy or stressed out I became, as soon as June entered the room, it all changed. My little three-quarter-pound guru had taught me how to live.