In the true (ahem) spirit of 7’s Halloween issue, I thought I’d share my experience with an ESP professional.
I didn’t visit with just any old psychic; I had my paws read by a pet psychic. (They like to be called “animal communicators,” I learned.)
Karen Anderson is one of the well-known within the lesser-known animal communicator community in the Spokane area.
A Google search of the topic spliced with “Spokane” might conjure Anderson’s thorough Web site, complete with links to news articles about when she was being hired to help in the search for Hollywood star Demi Moore’s lost dog last year.
While Anderson does travel around the country for supernatural expos, charging as much as $125 per session, she doesn’t make house calls. Anderson is so gifted that she handles the majority of her clients via telephone from her home in Elk. Sure, an e-mailed photo helps facilitate the channeling process, but it isn’t necessary. The clearest images are in her mind. It is telepathy, after all (although the animals – even the foreigners – speak to her in English, conveniently enough).
Anyone can tap the psychic link, if they are open minded enough, she says.
My session involved contacting the four cats my dear wife Rachel and I have taken care of together. Two of them are alive (Ozzie is a jerk, Burma is mine), the other two are not (Shasha was hit by a car, Yuki was hit with cancer). And Anderson had no problems contacting our friends in kitty heaven, or “spirit world” as she puts it.
The session starts with Anderson asking what the cat looks like.
This is the part where I want so badly to say, “You’re the psychic – you tell me,” but I like to talk about Yuki, so we start with her. She was a skittish tuxedo cat with a “k” tattooed on the inside of her ear, presumable mistreatment by her previous owner.
Once Anderson homes in on the cat’s energy, she surrounds it, herself and her client with the “white light of the holy spirit” to keep our energies safe and separate (and to keep unwanted guests out of the conversation, of course).
First Anderson gives the cat a chance to send a transmission.
“Animals will bring through things that are important in their life with you from their perspective so that you know it’s them coming through,” Anderson said.
Then she translates the cats emotions and auras surrounding certain events.
Yuki apparently didn’t want to talk much about unpleasant times. Fair enough, I didn’t want to upset the ghost of my dead, black cat.
Next Yuki brought up “two tones.” At first Anderson thought that meant colors, but Yuki corrected her and showed her musical notes. It was a musical reference.
Hmm … Radiohead and Wu-Tang?
This was how the conversations went with each cat. Anderson guessed correctly that Shasha, Rachel’s Siamese, had blue eyes and that my little kitty Burma (who, incidentally is not Burmese) had a little meow to match her stature.
After the cats had their say I was given a chance to ask a question.
My question for Ozzie was, “Why is he such a jerk?”
He definitely likes his space.
When it comes to dealing with the humans in the house, Anderson said, Ozzie “puts his paw up, like he doesn’t even want to go there.”
The cat communicator said Ozzie’s not willing to compromise, but I already knew that.
Hey, maybe I’m psychic.