People always ask me,

“What’s it like being a Psychic?”… “Why don’t you just play lotto?…”Because I ‘know’ I won’t win?”… “What am I thinking?“…”Why would I want to !?@## know that?”…“Who will I marry?”… “Wouldn’t a better question be – When will I divorce?” A real answer for “What’s it like being a Psychic” is …“It depends”.

Since I know no other way, being a Psychic seems normal to me. To most people it seems exotic, odd, uncanny, crazy, fill in as many blanks as you wish. Being called Psychic is like having a scarlet “P” around your neck at all times…




One day as I pulled into my driveway, I saw a woman and her daughter walking among the trees in a gully alongside where I live. No one really walked there except a passing deer or night animals. Having never seen these people before, I called out to them to see find out what they were doing there.

“Our cat,” the woman called back before she joined me. “We lost our family cat. He was at the Vet’s office down the street and he got out. Now we can’t find him,” Her daughter was crying. Our street was a busy one with cars and traffic, there were lots of houses around us, and we were already blocks from the Vet’s office. Didn’t look promising.

Knowing what it’s like to lose a pet, I tried to help them look for their cat but there was no sign of any animal in or near the gully or our home – cat, dog, or bird.

She said she put flyers around town and offered to give me one in case I saw her cat in the near future. But when she went to her car, she realized she already posted the last one. I suggested when she makes more, to drop one off to me. She never did. I neglected to ask the name of the car or its color before she left either. As time went on, I never saw a posted flyer and honestly forgot about their lost cat.

Months later while watering my back garden, I noticed a cat saunter across the backyard. It wasn’t odd. Lots of cats pass through my backyard on any given day. It’s like a cat short cut, getting them somewhere to places where humans don’t necessarily hang out.

The instant I saw this cat something inside me told me this was that woman’s cat from months ago. I didn’t know her name or have her number or thought about that lost cat until now.

I gently called to the cat. It came right to me. So, it wasn’t feral. It looked hungry. So I fed it. I felt sure it was her cat. Not because it devoured the cat food – all hungry cats love food.

I instantly grabbed a cat carrier, put the cat in it, and drove it to the Vet’s office. I asked if the cat that escaped months ago was ever found it? No one knew. They contacted the family.

Within hours the runaway orange cat was safely home and happy.







 I’m not really a Tree Hugger, but I have been caught hugging a tree from time to time. Everything living has a soul, so why not connect?

Anyway, that’s not what my landlord felt. Sure, trees help keep a healthy planet, shelter wildlife, and sometimes fall on houses. But who was there first? The tree or the house? But that’s another blog.

So when I came home for lunch one day, I found hired tree surgeons cutting down what seemed to be healthy trees for hypothetical safety reasons that could/might/never happen. The trees were large and very alive. Of course I asked, “Why are you cutting down these beautiful trees?” while he supervised the job,

Well, I guess that didn’t ‘cut it’ with him, because he began to rail against me about only being a tenant, having no say about what he does on his property, and they were after all  his trees. Sadly I bid the trees farewell and wished them a more productive next life.

Emotionally upset by how he treated me, not to mention the trees, I couldn’t stay around to watch and left – hoping that when I returned I wouldn’t see his angry face again.

Hours later I returned and was relieved to find both he and the tree surgeons gone. I sat down at my desk to try to write while facing three beautiful windows and a cluster of trees.

Seemingly out of nowhere he stuck his whole face in one window, at ground level I might add. My heart jumped. Was this more confrontation? I wasn’t in the mood nor did I want say what I really felt and possibly get evicted.

“Did you see what happened?” he asked.

Biting my tongue I said nothing.

“Did you see?” He countered.

“What?” I finally asked, trying to remain in the neutral zone. Ah, the benefits of psychic experience.

He lifted his glasses to show me a gash above his eye.

“I had to go to the hospital. Three stitches!”

“How?”  I innocently asked. He surely couldn’t blame me.

“A tree branch. Out of nowhere. Just missed my eye.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” I offered, but I inwardly knowing, ‘Hmmm Tree Karma.’










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I went to this restaurant for lunch because they offer a really diverse salad bar. Remember those? Anyway, I was in the middle of researching information about the NSA, that’s right, the National Security Agency for background on a screenplay I was writing. I actually needed answers to my questions from someone that knew the agency – not basic online information. And, those people don’t usually cross my path or anyone’s path, if you catch my drift.

So, I took a needed diversion and ate lunch. I had no idea what my next step would be or how I could ever find out specific information for my story. While chatting with the waiter, who I met several times before and because this research was on my mind, I laughingly asked him if he knew anyone who worked at the NSA and why. Way too out of my wheelhouse.

He smiled and said, “Me.”

A joke? He was a waiter I knew from a restaurant. I soon discovered that he not only served in the military, but had friends in the NSA he might be able to give my questions to if they weren’t security minded. Which they weren’t BTW. The chances of what happened that day? Well you figure it out.









I won’t lie. I’ve had a lot of pets that I loved, but Maozer was my favorite cat. Everyone has a favorite pet of all time, and he was mine. He was the last of my cat’s three kittens born a long time ago. I was living alone at the time, well not actually alone. It was Maozer and me. That was until I decided to move into a new apartment with my boyfriend and of course Maozer had to come along.

The very first night we stayed in our new partment, Maozer cried. He not only cried, he cried all night with his exasperating gutteral cry that sounded just like his name -Maooooo. He never cried like that in the eight years I had him. I tried to tempt him with his favorite food. A treat. I held him. Played with him. Nothing stopped his crying. It was incessant and so loud and constant I thought my new neighbors would definitely complain.

So sometime in the early morning hours, with total lack of sleep and his continuous Maaaaaooo.  I blindly just reflexively opened the door and let him outside. As soon as it happened I got woke and realized what I just did. This was a new place. A new neighborhood. He had never been here. He didn’t go outside. I willingly opened the door and let him out. I raced outside, canvassed the entire area. He was gone. Our first romantic day in our new apartment and I was devastated and depressed.

We wandered everywhere with friends calling his name. Nothing. I called every animal hospital in the area. No sign of him. We lived near a wooded gully where raccoons, other cats, dogs could harm him. I was beside myself with guilt and fear. Nothing was working.

So, what would a desperate psychic do? Bring out her trusty old Ouija Board, used since you were twelve and ask the spirit you’ve consciously known as a spiritual guide for help.  This is exactly what happened.

ME (in desperation) Will I ever see him again?”

SPIRIT (calmly) “He will return by 9 0’clock.”

What? What kind of answer was that? Cat’s can’t tell time that way. Neither do spirits. It was getting dark. It was winter cold. My cat was out there, freezing and hungry and lost because of me.

No matter what or how I asked, the Spirit kept spelling: “He will return by 9 o’clock.”  I was tired, forlorn and inconsolable, too upset to trust this.

Since we just moved in, we had no phone connection yet (this was before cell phones), so my boyfriend went to his office to make some calls and probably to get away from the depressing atmosphere surrounding him. In his absence, I like a Pavlovian dog periodically opened the door, peered into the dark, and called, “Mazoer!” Nothing stirred in the cold night air. Where was he? Had someone taken him in? Was he hurt? Hungry? I’d never forgive myself.

Hours must have passed after I finally settled on the floor, a pillow under my head near the front door in case I heard a sound and fell sleep. I don’t know how long I slept, but a sudden noise from the apartment upstairs woke me with a start. Groggy, without thinking I automatically opened the door to robotically call his name.


I felt something pass across my feet. When I looked down I saw him casually walk inside and head for the kitchen and food. In my wild frenzy, I picked Maozer up and held him close to make sure he was real. Make sure I wasn’t dreaming. He was here. He was safe. He found his way back.

I looked at the clock. It was nine o’clock.


From Maozer (in Spirit now)

Spirit Friends and Me





So, he wanted to go see the Thunderbird Jets put on an air show at an airport about a 45-minute drive North. He bought tickets early for the yearly event. Really good tickets. He even bought a camera on eBay to take better photos since this was his third time seeing the show. I had gone once. It was thrilling, but didn’t want to go again. He couldn’t get anyone else to go and I felt bad for him, but I strongly felt I shouldn’t go. He was fine. This way he could have more freedom to enjoy what he loved – flying. All good.  Well, not exactly.

I was surprised when he told me he would go later that day, since the Thunderbirds were the last act in the air show. I remembered that, but did not know the timing of it all. He had the tickets. The VIP tickets and VIP parking. He would know best, right?

As he was pulling his car out of the driveway the words ‘This is going to be a fiasco’ were as clear as day in my head. That was all I knew… until he called me about an hour later to tell me the air show had already started before he arrived. He was now on a road to get to the airport that was closed because of… you guessed it… the air show already started. As he was talking to me on his cell, complaining about not getting into the airport to see the Thunderbirds, he started to shout “There they are! They just flew overhead!” I could hear the planes fly by. Now they were flying overhead to get back to the airport but he had nowhere to park or stop to see them perform except catching glimpses of them through his windshield. I heard them swoosh back and forth several times between the sound of his frustrated voice.

So, he got to see the Thunderbirds fly after all, but not in optimum circumstances or conditions, and had no photos to show… Oh, did I tell you he got lost coming home…What a fiasco.


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TAXI !!! 

 We were about to leave Manhattan during rush hour on a sweltering, I mean SWELTERING summer day – Do I have your sympathy yet? Thermometers were off the charts rising toward 98 degrees and the sidewalks in Manhattan screamed HOTTER! Needless to say, everyone was beyond a bad mood.

So, we’re driving down a side street between Central Park West and Columbus Avenue on the Upper West Side hoping to get out of Manhattan as fast as possible when the car overheated. I mean smoke billowed out from under that hood as if a fire breathing dragon dived in there and wasn’t leaving. SCARY!

Obviously, we pulled over to the sidewalk where of course there is NO parking. Actually, there is no parking anywhere unless you double park/blocking traffic, park in front of a fire hydrant, park where there are no parking/standing signs, and the meter cops are not friendly- especially not on a HOT day.  Stressed enough? Well, from insult to heat seeking injury I was elected to sit on the hot sidewalk by the car to keep the Parking Gestapo at bay should they arrive while the owner/driver nervously paced in the shade and talking on the phone to make arrangements for a mechanic to stare down the fire breathing dragon lurking under the still steaming car hood. At this point, I didn’t know who was steaming more, the dragon or me.

After my third BIG GULP bottle of cold water, I was sitting on the sidewalk trying to ignore the sweat pouring off me by watching air-conditioned cars edge bumper to bumper past me in the street. While seated a random thought popped into my head… ‘I wonder if my friend that I haven’t seen in years since he moved to Brooklyn is still driving a cab? Hmmm, how he was doing… I wondered…

As if on cue, the air-conditioned taxi he drove came down the street toward Columbus Ave and stopped in traffic directly in front of me. As if in a dream, I rose from my heated sidewalk throne and slowly walked to his inert taxi stuck in traffic. I tapped on his closed window, he turned, I waved. Astonished to see me, he rolled down the window. Before we could utter a word, horns honked – the definition of a New York minute – traffic moved and he drove away.  …Be careful what you wish for on a hot NYC afternoon.