Soft Nudge: Even the Cat Knew

Body as Oracle — What Grief Teaches the Body to Hear

Since losing Magnus, the vibe has shifted in the Shepherd ohana. More quiet moments. More tears. More adjustment. I still head out for an evening walk, but my hand instinctively goes to the dog drawer for Magnus’ leash.

Thirteen years of daily walks with my buddy—that habit doesn’t vanish overnight.

Even John, coming home from work, will still instinctively whistle for him.

Each of us has our own way of grieving. But so does Bean, our cat.

One night while we sat in the living room talking, Bean came between us with her toy puppet. (John had bought it for her—something to wrestle and bite, like a little sibling). She placed it at our feet and just stood there.

I assumed she wanted to play. But she didn’t. She stood, unmoving. Watching.

“What do you need?” I asked gently.
John smiled. “Don’t you speak cat language yet?”

It didn’t hit me until the middle of the night.

Over the past few weeks, I’d noticed her toy puppet showing up in whatever room I was in. And suddenly I knew:

Bean was bringing us a gift. She was bringing us... Puppet.

A Puppet-Shaped Hole in My Heart

Puppet was one of Magnus’ many nicknames (he had so many). But this one stuck hard. Years ago, when arranging an apartment stay in Vienna, I asked the owner if we could bring our puppy. She replied: “Yes, bring your puppet!” It made us laugh—and from then on, it was one of his signature names.

So when Bean kept bringing us Puppet... she was trying to fill that hole.

It turns out—I do speak cat language.

And this realization returned me to the now.
To presence.
To listening.

My friend Debra told me: watch for paw prints. Then, Erica gifted me this.

Grief Slows You Down

Grief doesn’t announce itself with a trumpet. It hums quietly in the background, like an app running behind everything else. A dull ache. A pause in joy. An invisible weight on the heart. It’s easy to override with food, scrolling, work...

But if we listen, grief becomes a doorway to deepening.

• An expiration date gives life poignancy. It sharpens your awareness, and you suddenly feel the fleeting beauty in the moment before you.

• Grief insists that you feel. Like rain replenishing parched earth, your sadness soaks your soul and brings it back to life (sometimes, I’ve oddly discovered, even against your own resistance to this).

• Grief slows you down. You stare at the empty dog bowl. You wander into a memory and wait as it unfolds. You give everything more space.

And then, somehow, even with a vital piece missing, your Soul feels more alive.

through its connection to Persephone, pomegranate symbolizes death & rebirth

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Your Intuitive Invitation

You don’t need grief to remember the sacred intimacy of life. You just need to listen.

This weekend, try one:

1. Pause to appreciate something fleeting. A sunset, an unspoken connection, a moment of recognition.

2. Track a subtle sensation. What are you noticing, inside? Where does it lead you? Let your body guide you to something real.

3. Slow down. Linger in a memory, when it arises. Let it soften and restore you.

Each moment you choose to *stay* ✨⬇️✨with what’s real, you nourish your Soul.
And far more deeply than anything this quick-fix culture could ever offer.

This Soft Nudge is part of a four-part rhythm exploring intuitive living. Each week centers on one of the following themes:

– The Voice You’ve Been Silencing (inner listening)
– Sensitivity as a Signal (emotional + energetic awareness)
– Body as Oracle (embodiment + physical intuition)
– Soft Power (energy alignment + reframing strength)

This week’s theme: Body as Oracle — What Grief Teaches the Body to Hear

sketch of my sweet Magnus Shepherd, also available as a greeting card on Etsy