Frankie and Lynnie: The Tale Begins

Frankie was a cat. A rather short cat who always walked with his tail straight up. It made him feel taller. Shoes would have also worked, but Frankie was short of cash. Oddly, he was always short of cash, but that was okay; for some strange reason, he never seemed to have any pockets. Money, of course, might not have helped anyway, since Frankie would not need one pair of shoes but two, and that could be expensive. In the meantime, he would just have to hold his tail high.

On this particular morning, he was washing up. He licked his paw and then vigorously rubbed his head. He was a self-cleaning kitten, sitting alone in a grassy Manchester park surrounded by a short, black, metal fence. His morning ablutions were abruptly interrupted by a little dark-haired girl with long-flowing ringlets who had come to play. The very girl he was looking for. He had been born to accompany her at the start of her journey. He was to be her spiritual guide.

Time spent with cats is never wasted.

— Sigmund Freud

I had been told that the training procedure with cats was difficult. It's not. Mine had me trained in two days.

— Bill Dana

I have studied many philosophers and many cats. The wisdom of cats is infinitely superior.

— Hippolyte Taine

Accompanying her was a scooter, rather small, and a soccer ball, rather big. She would kick the ball away but then would go get it. Then she would kick it away again and run after it again. This happened several times. Frankie wished that the young lass would make up her mind. Either keep the damn thing or get rid of it. Try to be more decisive.

Frankie decided to approach the girl, to renew their acquaintance. After all, she did have nice eyes, and nice eyes were a way for Frankie to judge people. Not all people had been kind to Frankie, but despite being a short cat, Frankie could look after himself. After all, once cats had been worshipped as gods. Cats might no longer be so highly regarded, but they were still considered important. There was a cat in Alaska who was the mayor of the small village of Talkeetna, with fans worldwide. You could find him hanging about Nagley's General Store. Although Frankie had never met Stubbs, Frankie, as a cat, was proud to say that Stubbs was a cat. Preposterous? He even had his own Facebook page. Cats were important. Frankie liked to remind people of that.

He approached the little girl. She was taller than he was, but of course she had shoes, a luxury Frankie could not afford. The little girl saw Frankie and shrieked, "Hello, kitty kitty. My name is Lynnie."

Frankie responded, "My name is Frank."

The little, bright-eyed girl only heard, "Meow meow meow meow."

Looking at Frankie, she said, "kitty."

Frankie responded, "It's Frank. Some call me Frankie, but until I know you better, it's Frank. It most certainly is not kitty. I don't call you childie."

Lynnie still only heard, "Meow meow meow."

In frustration, Frankie responded, "Let me be Frank."

The child obviously did not speak feline. She was going to be a lot of work, but this indecisive lass obviously needed help, and Frankie was up to the task. Frankie looked up at the girl and felt he had so much to teach her. Her dark eyes showed that she viewed the world with wonderment, but at the same time, they betrayed an inner knowledge and — there it was! — a spark of recognition. She was young, but there was agelessness in her soft brown eyes.

His mind wandered for a moment as he considered whether she had a small bird in her possession or maybe a mouse. A small mouse would taste good about now, but alas: nothing was forthcoming.

Who feeds a hungry animal, feeds his own soul.

— Charlie Chaplin

Before a cat will condescend to treat you as a trusted friend, some little token of esteem is needed. Like a dish of cream.

— T. S. Eliot

How was he going to communicate with this child and tell her about the wonders of the world? He wanted to tell her that there would be many lonely nights but love would embrace her with open arms when she was ready. In the meantime, love would be a fickle companion. He would tell her that heaven and hell are right here on earth, and luckily she could choose which one she wanted to be in. Money wasn't important, except for shoes. You should live in the now and never let a day go by without doing at least one good turn.

She recognized something in Frankie, and his purrs and meows resonated in her subconscious. They were reunited once more.

For Frankie, it was love at first sight. Lord George Byron and the Brontn sisters loved cats. In this lifetime, Lynnie would become entranced by these authors as she had before. They loved cats, and Lynnie loved them, so how could she not love this little charmer?

There are two means of refuge from the miseries of life: music and cats.

— Albert Schweitzer

Frankie looked up at her, and she said, "kitty?"

Okay, Frankie thought, I guess I can be kitty for this cute little girl, but she had better deliver some food. Being a philosopher takes a lot out of you.

She swept him up in her arms and carried him across the road to her home. Frankie, after all, was a charmer, and they were to be friends once more.

It was a modest home not far from Old Trafford, the home of the famous Manchester United soccer club. After some refreshing milk, which did not go unappreciated, she took him to her room. It was tiny, with lots of things that she had collected during her short journey on earth. Quizzically, she approached a teddy bear of approximately Frankie's size and proceeded to strip it of a small Manchester United jersey. The bear didn't appear to mind, but Frankie did when she put the jersey on him. Frankie approached a wooden, framed, floor-length mirror and thought, Really? I look like a giant, fuzzy tomato with a tail. This is not going to do at all. I'm a cat. This looks ridiculous. But wait. Where did these little shoes come from? Two dolls in the corner sat barefoot, looking none too pleased. They fit. I look taller. I'm super cat, bigger, better, bolder. I can leap tall chairs in a single bound. Let's see Rooney do that. Why, United would be lucky to have me.

Yes, I was one cool cat. Don't forget: I had a fur coat long before Joe Namath.

Now to life's lessons and the reason we are here, or how Frankie taught an indecisive little girl with beautiful eyes and shoes how this wonderful planet operated.

Happiness, According to Frankie

Now I'm just a short cat — actually I'm much taller than I look — and you may be asking yourself how I could communicate with a little girl who did not speak a word of feline. Like the vast majority of people, Lynnie had forgotten so much on her journey back to this earthly plane, but like any newborn star, in time she would become a brilliant force, shining her warmth over all she met. I had wisdom and a lot of cat, and we were both so very young. But I'm getting ahead of myself.

We cats do not have nine lives. That is just a myth. In fact, we have many more through years of rebirth. Over the eons, we have learned to communicate through our minds. I was once a guest of Cleopatra, a usually nice person, but sometimes she could be a real asp! I spent one life at the Grand Trianon, which was a marvelous residence. I was there at the time of Napoleon Bonaparte and frequently gave him unheeded military advice. I called him Nappie, even though others close to him referred to him as Nabulio, and we were the best of friends, although he was extremely allergic to me. I gave him hives. He would often be seen scratching his chest with his right hand under his shirt. An artist, Jacques-Louis David, painted a picture of him scratching, and the rest is history.

It has been reported that Napoleon had ailurophobia, the fear of cats, but that fear did not extend to me. He even adopted a cat when he was exiled on St. Helena Island. It saddened me when he was exiled. He displayed a real charm. Not all of my lives were spent with famous people — most were of the everyday sort — but make no mistake: they are as important and dear to me as anyone. Unacknowledged people who pass silently through the doors of history can have a huge impact on the world we live in. These silent but saintly souls put forth kindness not for personal glory, gain, or fame but to help lost and in-need souls. You cannot imagine how the smallest kindness, a smile, can radiate out and change the day and, dare I say, life of someone in need. Life is not about taking but giving.

The Wonders of the Universe

Cats first domesticated humans in ancient Mesopotamia over 100,000 years ago. We have lived side by side with humans through eternity, but unlike humans, we don't forget our past lives. We continuously learn, and we are here to help humans evolve as well. As an aside, dogs live many lives as well, but they can't remember them, and that pretty much explains the primitiveness of dogs. Have you ever seen one chase his or her tail? Or sniff another dog? That can't be pleasant at the best of times. But I digress, and I will now recount how Lynnie and I arrived here and then the rules I offered Lynnie to live by.

There are a number of concepts that humans have trouble with. They are taught that there is one right answer, usually the one that the teacher has in mind, when in reality, there may be several. Humans perceive that there is a start and an end to everything, and yet space is endless. Think about that: if we travelled at any speed, we would never reach the end. If there was an end to space and at the end there was a wall, what then would be on the other side of the wall? Humans view time as linear, always moving forward. But what if time were circular, like a record? Are we living more than one life at a time, separated like the grooves on a record? What if the needle skips? Do we suddenly experience a view from the past? Is this what transpired in 1901 in Versailles (my old stomping grounds) when two respected academics, Anne Moberly and Eleanor Jourdain, claimed to have involuntarily crossed the boundaries of time to 112 years in the past? The world and we are truly a mystery.

Lynnie and I would often sit in the twilight and discuss these mysteries. Even with my past-life knowledge intact, I continue to view the world with fascination. One night on a quiet hillside in Manchester, I was introduced to my first fireflies. As the sun bid us adieu for yet another day, dusk silently crept up the hillside toward us, carrying with it tiny flies that looked like they possessed individual flashlights. As fireflies danced across our night's visage, Lynnie immediately saw the beauty of nature's dance ... I saw food. Oh, there was beauty there, but I still saw food. I am here to tell you that fireflies are neither a hot meal nor tasty. At the very least, I expected spicy. Yet another mystery of life.

We know so little about the workings of the universe, ourselves, and our history. As our knowledge grows, so does our belief and knowledge grow concerning reincarnation. The majority of people in the world believe in reincarnation; it is almost universal in the East. Western society, until recently, has tended to reject the concept, in part because of the perceived lack of reference to reincarnation in the Bible. Others have argued that the Bible was purged of all references to reincarnation in the distant past, as it did not fit the then-popular version of religion. However, in the past few years, there has been a marked shift in the West toward Eastern beliefs.

Lynnie and I once had an in-depth discussion on reincarnation and how it relates to the Bible. We were slowly ambling along a tree-lined boulevard one unusually quiet evening as a warm breeze tickled our faces. Actually, I was doing a modified forward soft shoe shuffle as we walked; a true dancer, after all, must keep in practice to be fit. The gloriousness of the day, its waning brightness and warmth, penetrated to the core of our souls, driving young Lynnie to spiritual thoughts. Ideas coursed through her mind as we walked along in silence, thoughts of our purpose in life that inevitably drew her into an even deeper inner conflict. You see, prior to our meeting in this life, Lynnie had already been introduced to the Catholic faith. She of course trusted her parents and siblings and their provided guidance. We had frequently talked about the wonders of the universe, life's purpose, and reincarnation. Although a good pupil, to Lynnie there appeared to be a conflict between the faith she knew and the spiritual concepts she so dearly believed in. Lynnie was a bit of a rebel in her youth, and she so wanted to believe me. After all, if you can't trust a cat, who can you trust?

That evening, we sat in a flowerbed along the road and watched a beautiful butterfly flit from blossom to blossom. Wayne Dyer beautifully describes his encounter with a Monarch butterfly in his book Inspiration: Your Ultimate Calling but for some inexplicable reason fails to inform you not to eat one. Despite being one of the beautiful wonders of the universe, don't eat one. Trust me; you will regret it. The flowers around us were lit up by dancing moonbeams that, while promising a new dawn and sunlight, told the flowers to enjoy the now. Magic was in the air.

So there we sat as Lynnie patted me on the head and questioned how all of what I said fit in with the religion to which she was born. I explained that I didn't go to church. Cats weren't really welcomed since we didn't have pockets and therefore found it difficult to carry change for the collection plate. We could carry change in our mouth, but spitting wet change into the collection plate along with the odd hairball just wasn't considered acceptable behavior. I did get to church once, but I got wacked with a broom. I never knew crackers could taste so good, but apparently you aren't supposed to eat your fill. I still don't understand that. I had thought of bringing a recently deceased mouse as an offering, but humans don't really appreciate the savoriness of a fresh mouse.

So back to the story. I looked at Lynnie and professed that, although I wasn't a churchgoer, I was spiritual, and I had read many biblical passages throughout my many lifetimes, even some religious documents that were never published. You see, as a cat, I'm very curious. I always wanted to know the whys and wherefores, what makes us tick. So with the preface that I wasn't a biblical scholar, just a cool cat who knew a lot about religion, I proceeded to tell Lynnie that the conflict her young mind was experiencing was just a misunderstanding. Here are the thoughts I presented to her one warm spring evening many years ago while sitting in a flowerbed.

Reincarnation and Religion

Diverse religions throughout the world recognize the belief in reincarnation. It should come as no surprise that one in four Americans believe in reincarnation. Reincarnation is often defined as death of the body when the spirit separates, is judged, and then returns at a later date in a new body. The purpose of reincarnation is to provide enlightenment as we progress to perfection. This process continues until the soul reaches perfection, becoming one with God.

Scholars often point to verses in the Bible as proof of reincarnation. I don't intend to thoroughly argue whether the Bible truly refers to reincarnation; that would require a separate book written by someone far more knowledgeable than me. Look, for goodness sake, I'm a cat. However, if it piques your interest, I have made some observations in appendix A of this book.

We may never have seen a germ, but we know of their existence. Merely, our failure to remember past lives does not invalidate the concept of reincarnation. Nowhere does the Bible reject reincarnation, although it had plenty of opportunity to do so.

So there you have it. People may tell you there is a conflict between organized religion and spirituality, but is there really? Take the word of this cat. Have I ever lied to you? I like to lie around in the sun to absorb vitamin D, but I never lie. I once told a mouse that I was here to serve him, and I did, on toast. Hey, don't knock it until you've tried it. Tastes a lot like chicken.