When I met and got to know Wendy Kelly, I immediately recognized something in her that I know about myself. Animals communicate. We listen. Like Wendy, I learned just how clearly and intelligently animals can tell us what they know and want us to know. The following is how I learned. Several years ago, I had a serious stroke. Mercifully, I recovered with no neurological deficits, but psychologically I was devastated. I had just finished a long course of chemotherapy for my second bout with breast cancer and feared illness was now a fact of life that would seriously slow down my extremely active lifestyle. I became so depressed I couldn’t even get out of bed. And then Simone entered my life. My best friend and horse trainer, Ruth, knew exactly how to help me. It would definitely involve an animal. I adore my horses and have always considered them the greatest of spiritual healers, but she couldn’t get me out of bed to get me to the barn, and she couldn’t get a horse up the stairs to my room. A pitiful meowing in the bushes in her front yard solved her problem and saved my sanity. With my daughter’s aid, Ruth rounded up the six feral kittens, put them in a box, brought them to my room, and put the box on the foot of my bed. Pitiful mewling immediately perked me up. I sat up so I could pull the kittens closer and have a look at them. But one was already up and over the edge, climbing out. A tiny gray tabby. She landed on my leg and ran on it straight up into my lap. She didn’t stop there. Reaching up toward my chest with her front paws, she begged to be held. A feral kitten. Her siblings, terrified, remained curled in their box. I obliged the kitten and tucked her into my embrace. She started to purr. Eventually, the other kittens were moved to another part of the house to begin their lives as more of my adopted feline children. Simone, as she was now called, never left my bedroom. Seldom since she crawled into my arms has she left my side. Simone has a gift. One night with her and the next morning I nearly bounded out of bed. In following weeks, she continued to demonstrate her talents. When I was upset and my blood pressure, always a problem, was elevated, Simone would climb into my arms, purr, and touch me, and my pressure was demonstrably lowered. I told Wendy about my remarkable cat. She asked if I would like her to assess Simone for therapy work. Yes. I knew she would pass, which she did. With flying colors. She subsequently earned her badge and vest and now travels about the country with me doing her life’s work. Simone always knows when someone is in need. And she alerts me. At horse shows, occasionally when I greet a friend, Simone will try to climb out of my arms and into my friend’s. I always allow her. Then she does her job, purring and touching, and reaching a human soul. Tears follow. And confessions of recent trauma or heartache. And when Simone climbs back into my arms, I know she has helped to heal another heart. It is always affirmed by the person healed. If we are in a crowd and Simone detects someone who needs her, she alerts me by meowing insistently until I spot what she has seen. Once it was a woman in a wheelchair at a public event. Simone moaned until I brought her within reach of the disabled older woman, who looked up at me questioningly. “My cat, Simone, is special,” I told her simply. “She would like to give you a gift. Is it all right if she touches you?” The woman nodded slowly. Her four attendant family members crowded around us anxiously. Simone reached out and gently touched her arm. “Ohhhh,” the woman sighed. Then she smiled. Grinned. Beamed. Her family burst into tears. “I’m so sorry,” I said quickly. “Are you all right? What’s wrong?” “Mom,” a young woman said, “my mother, she . . . she hasn’t smiled in months.” Simone and the older woman enjoyed a good, long cuddle. She finally left with her family, not only smiling but laughing with joy. Communication of the heart. More than words can ever express. Listen to them. Hear them. Let this wonderful book help you learn how. —Helen A Rosburg Read more. . .