When I agreed to cat-sit for a coworker back in 2012, I had no idea it would one day result in a repaired relationship with my estranged mother.

The cat’s name was Monk, and he was quite standoffish — until one day, when I was laid out in bed with excruciating menstrual cramps. He sauntered over, sniffed me from head to toe, located the pain in my abdomen, curled up there, and purred intensely… until my cramps went away! Turns out, a cat’s purr is a healing frequency.

For the record, I was not a cat person at the time. But the seed had been planted…

Fast forward to 2024: I had just moved to Asheville, North Carolina to get away from my mother, who was like Saturn incarnate. I’d lived an extremely limited life, with every thought, word, feeling, and behavior controlled by her. Estranging myself was like breaking free from the Saturnian black-cube she’d raised me in. 

One day while walking, a sign caught my eye: “House of Black Cat Magic.” It was a cat cafe of exclusively of black cats.

I had menstrual cramps at that moment. Remembering Monk’s healing purrs, I went in for a 30 minute session. I had no idea my life was about to change.

A few different cats competed for my attention, batting at ribbons, chasing toys across the floor, and demanding pats. But one cat sat politely nearby until my lap was free again — whereupon she curled up on my lap and went to sleep for an hour!

A strong knowing overtook me: This is my cat.

But I was scared. Me, adopt a cat? I’d never had a cat. Plus, adopting a pet is a huge responsibility, and I still didn’t have a job. 

So I did something I rarely do: I asked God for a sign. “God, if I’m supposed to adopt this cat, please give me an undeniably clear sign by the end of today.”

Three hours later, I went to Bible Study at a church I’d joined just last week. A girl came up to chat with me, and she was wearing a pendant around her neck — of the cat cafe logo!

I filed the adoption paperwork immediately, and brought my cat home a few days later.

Originally named Miri (meaning “bitterness of the sea”), I renamed her Jupiter because of her incredible survival story: Jupiter’s previous family had lost her while preparing for a big cross-country move. Unable to find her in time, they proceeded with the move anyway. When they returned their shipping container to the warehouse, they had no idea that she was inside of it! So she was stuck inside the shipping container, with no light, food or water, for a month! When an employee eventually found her, emaciated and traumatized, they contacted the family, who coldly responded that they’d already adopted another cat and didn’t want her back — which is how she ended up at the cat cafe.

Though Jupiter’s story is far more extreme than mine, the symbolic resonance was clear. In mythology, Saturn’s murderous tyranny is ended only when his son, Jupiter overcomes him. When my cat Jupiter survived a month inside a black box, the symbolism resonated with my own story of escaping my mother’s Saturnian grip.

An absolute sweetheart, Jupiter brought unfathomable joy into my life. But after Hurricane Helene destroyed Asheville and sent me back to my parents’ house, a miracle occurred: my mother lightened up.

My mom had always been stern, and furthermore, had hated cats (particularly black cats, as she believed them to be demonic). But with Jupiter in the house, my mother became soft and affectionate, a side of her I’d never seen in 32 years. For the first time in my entire life, we actually got along, able to have normal conversations and even laugh together… and I give all the credit to the power of Jupiter, and to the Monk who synchronistically led me to her.

Photo by Ricardo Avelar on Unsplash