In June this year , I had to choose between two veterinarians to do a complicated surgery for Milo, my beloved black cat , who was 5 years old at the time. My feline friend and companion had a cancerous growth on his left shoulder that needed to be removed. This would be an extensive surgery; due to the size of the growth they would have to remove some of his shoulder muscle as well. Since he was an older cat and vulnerable to possible complications in surgery, I wanted the best care possible.

I had two possibilities to consider: Either use my usual veterinarian in up country rural Ireland, or go with the high-tech vet who was based in the city, the areas industrial centre.

The city vet came highly recommended as the best veterinary surgeon. Plus, he was licensed to do acupuncture on animals. And he had the best life support equipment for the surgeries he performed. Not surprisingly, he was also the most expensive, almost twice as much as my regular vet, for the same surgical procedure.

I didn't know him at all, so I took Milo for his first visit to this vet to get an estimate on the surgery and more generally to see how the two got along. The city vet's assessment of Milo was very precise. He was good and efficient in his examination, but I felt Milo was handled like just one more cat out of dozens handled that day. A personal connection was distinctly lacking.

Still, when dealing with a serious surgical procedure, is that warm connection the most important thing?

The thought I kept in the forefront of my mind was: What does Milo want and where would he prefer to go?

A Dream and a Dark Wood

Months earlier, I had a dream that haunted me for a while – I had dreamt Milo was dead. He was gone and I knew it. In the dream, I was talking with the staff of a high-tech animal hospital. They were all in a car and wouldn't step out to talk with me – an aloof group. From the parking area outside the animal hospital in the dream, I could clearly see a nearby dark wooded copse surrounded by a fence.

After a while I forgot the dream and even the talk of Milo's surgery didn't jog my memory. After our appointment at the city animal hospital, I had the instinct to take Milo for a look around the building. On the other side of the animal hospital, looking out of a window I was startled to see a small dark wood surrounded by a fence. The dream flooded back to me.

As a psychic and clairvoyant, I knew immediately I couldn't leave Milo here – he would die because he wouldn't feel on familiar ground and because they didn't know him. Milo would feel disconnected, unnoticed, alone, and more vulnerable to the shock of a surgery. At Milo's usual vet office, they not only knew him, they were fond of him. Anyone will recognize that loving feeling, especially an animal. They are natural love detectors.

When a prominent dream symbol

also shows up in our daily life, a guiding hand is trying to reach us. When dreams are so lucid that the symbol reappears in our daily life, an important message awaits us. I've also found these symbols to be right on time. The image of the dark wood had settled into my memory only to be recharged at the appropriate moment to serve as a cautionary guide, and in fact, may have prevented a premature death for Milo.

So, what happened with Milo? His regular vet did the surgery. He not only survived the surgery, but healed very quickly – and he's quite healthy and very much alive six months later, as active and eccentric as ever.

What I Learned From Milo

When we are going through a major transition — a surgery, a relationship crisis, a divorce — sometimes we need a familiar place to go to, a place where people know us by name, where we have a sense of home. We need that personal touch to get us through the mire: the doctor who knows our name as well as our children's names, the bus driver who waits for us when we're running late, and the friend who remembers to send us flowers on our birthday. Kindness and warm familiarity is real and long-lasting medicine.

Love and Light

Lianne

Please visit my website www.angeltime.co.uk