“Seth material” search engine (Jane Roberts)

[...] Took our cat out though, sat on steps waiting for Rob to come home from work; feeling diminished. [...]

(It might also be noted that Willy, our cat, jumped up on Jane’s lap a minute or two before the session began. [...]

[...] We close the door between the bath and living room to keep Willie, our cat, in the living room at night. [...]

(This afternoon Jane and I outlined a “credo” for her that we hoped she could follow back to the productive endeavors she loves so much: writing, poetry, painting, the sessions, the mail, cooking, feeding our cats, Billy and Mitzi, and so forth. [...]

[...] A dog knows it is not a cat. [...]

[...] There are simply different kinds of consciousness, and you cannot basically compare one to the other any more than you can compare, say, a toad to a star to an apple to a thought to a woman to a child to a native to a suburbanite to a spider to a cat. [...]

[...] A young man was looking at me with a pleased, cat-caught-the-canary grin. [...]

[...] Classmates were involved, and a spitting cat that belonged in a house nearby the school.

[...] I only know that the following were involved: a childhood nursery tale and a toy like the cuddly cat doll I had as a child, named Susie, and thought the world of. [...]

[...] Mischa died, and I buried him in a flower bed in back of 458, as we called the house; we were left with our two cats. [...]