Through the Portal

Those of you who know me are aware that I have been up to very weird, wonderful and creative things recently, all part of studying for my Masters degree in Creative Writing at Keele University. Some of the story can be found on my Facebook page ‘Chalice Creative Writing’, which looks at the preparation I made for two events, one in Stoke-on-Trent, the other in Hereford. In the pursuit of creative material, and because I love doing them, I provided free Tarot readings as part of my Writer in the Community Project. In a few days time the full story will be on this blog, but there is a part of the preparation I haven’t really talked about. Before I held the two events, I went for my own Tarot reading with a lady I met a few years ago, a very experienced reader. What happens in the reading is always confidential, but I did talk to her about my cat who died three years ago, it just so happened exactly three years to the day I went for my reading. The date was chosen by the Tarot reader because that was the date she could fit me in. This cat was very special to me, but of course the reader could not have known about the significance of the date. I was so close to this cat I have sometimes wondered why I’ve never dreamt about her or ‘seen’ her, as has happened with another cat I had. It prompted me to write a poem about my conversation with the Tarot reader when we talked about my ‘soul-cat’. It's more emotion than high art, but true.
The image of the moon is copyright of J R Biddulph who kindly gave me permission to use it.     
 
Preparation  

I still cry for her, my familiar.
Strange I never glimpse her;
a shadow on the stairs,
a fleet movement in the half-light. 
Soul-cat who sat close to me,
and shared my nights.
 
I loved her. She was my friend
from the tips of her soft paws,
her needy claws and coat of spices,
to her skinny talkative tail.
Her chirrup greeting never failed
to make me happy
 
She never made me cry,
until that moment
I had to let her run free. 
 
You will see her
when your grief is not so hot. 
For now,
she is imprinted on you.
©June Palmer