17 years ago, we were caretakers for a farm in Maryland. The previous occupants had abandoned two semi-feral barn cats named Julie and Sonny (Julie was Sonny's mother). We adopted them, though they never would come inside, and when we moved to Maine some years later, we took them with us, creating little outdoor insulated houses for them. Julie was a magical little marmalade girl who, though highly resistant to coming indoors, would come sit with me outdoors or go for long walks with me. When she disappeared one day I was devastated, as I was sure she had been gotten by the coyotes I had heard sometimes in the evening howling. Two years later at our new house, a little marmalade boy showed up, whom we named Dorrie. Like Julie, he loved to just sit outside with me. But unlike Julie, he did not resist being brought inside. We had two other cats at the time, so we didn't plan initially to adopt him. Instead, a friend agreed to take him -- a very kind man who really wanted him. About a week after Dorrie left, I had the most vivid dream -- I saw Dorrie run up the driveway to our house and begin to circle the car, rubbing its tires and waving his tail. There was a flash of light and for that second, Dorrie changed into Julie and I had the overwhelming feeling she had found us and wanted urgently to come home to us. The next day, our friend called to ask if we could take Dorrie back. "He just seems so unhappy! All he does is sit in the window looking mournful." So after that, for 10 years, we had not just Dorrie, but Julie, whom I really believed had found us. Sometimes, I would call to him, "Julie!" and he would immediately -- even eagerly!-- respond. He had so many little mannerisms that were like her, like raising one paw as if waving if he was excited about something and going wild over vanilla yogurt, When he died in August from a combination of poorly controlled diabetes and cancer (we had to make the decision to have him euthanized, as he was in great pain and could no longer eat), I was so devastated I never thought I would get over it. I have never been so close to an animal before, though I have had many animal companions I loved, But after a while, when I was able to turn down my "grief noise" enough, I could feel Dorrie/Julie so close. He seemed very distressed that I was having such a hard time letting go. It was as if I could hear a little voice saying, "I'm here! Don't be sad." It was really affirming to read that others have had similar experiences. But it should not surprise us -- love doesn't have any boundaries, even time. We haven't gotten another cat yet, but I am waiting for the time to feel right. And then I pray that Julie/Dorrie finds me again.

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