I adopted Azez in March of 2021. He was a tiny eight-week old tabby, with a highly intelligent tuxedo cat for a mom and a 28 pound long haired bobcat/maincoon mix for a dad. He had beautiful markings and a big nose, the kind of nose that I like to call the “old man nose” on a cat. I’m not sure why, it just makes me laugh.
I was planning on adopting only one cat that day, but I left that awesome crazy cat lady’s house with the two of them. She handed me their birth certificates and I walked out the door with two meowing kittens in one large crate.
The day I got them I grabbed a random crystal book from the lengthy bookshelf built across the wall of my short 20 foot bus, and divinated their names.
The boy would be named Azez (after Azeztulite). He was a Capricorn sun, Leo moon, and Peices rising.
The girl would be named Lazuli (after Lapis Lazuli). She was a Capricorn sun, Leo moon, Aquarius rising.
I was quickly turning into the crazy cat lady.
Unleashed, they followed my partner (Rob) at the time and I on hikes and backpacking expeditions. Living in a small bus with two cats was actually pretty easy. If parked in one spot for more than two nights, we’d keep the windows cracked for them to come and go as they pleased. This dynamic worked for us. Without fail, every morning at dawn, after a night full of hunting and exploring, they’d jump up into our bed and tuck themselves into the nooks of our bodies. They would each bring in 3-4 mice a night and eat every part of the little critters except for the colon, which we cleaned up in the morning. Picking up some left behind part of a carcass became a part of our morning routine (I caught on relatively quickly after stepping on a fair amount of guts with my bare feet—literally the worst feeling ever). Azez even brought in a jack rabbit once or twice and ate half of it, which was a little more disturbing to clean. Anytime this happened, I took the remaining parts of the animal and gently placed them outside, offering a crystal and a song on my flute. These cats were truly the perfect mix of wild and snuggly.
Obviously this level of freedom we gave the cats came with risks. And yet being the intrinsic people that Rob and I were, we couldn’t restrict them for our own comfort and security. For them to be happy living on the road with us, they needed their space to explore. It felt like an understanding we all shared.
In January 2022 I was in Quartzsite, AZ for the Gems and Minerals show when Lazuli wandered off a little further than usual. My theory is she went into heat. She just turned one year old, and I intended to let her have one litter before spaying her (I got Azez neutered (to avoid incest kitties)). One morning, two weeks into my Quartzsite snow birding, Azez greedily munched his kibble alone; Lazuli hadn’t returned. I walked miles and miles through the hot desert and sandy washes searching for her, clinking her food bowl with a metal fork (this always worked in the past to call her home). After two days, I posted missing cat signs all over town. I was crestfallen. Fellow traveling friends pitifully looked at me when they saw me. I left my bus stationary for two weeks after her dissapearance (just in case she returned), catching rides with friends to the local convenience store to fill water and restock essentials. I put her litter box outside so maybe she would smell it. I resentfully listened as people shamed me for the lifestyle I offered her, and the inevitable death sentence it gave her. I grieved, and felt guilty, and yet trusted that the dynamic we had was what she needed. I always had a feeling that if I restricted her curiosity of the world, she would run away the first opportunity she had. She had run-ins with wild desert animals in the past. She knew how tough the outside world could be and I believe she understood the risks of wandering too far, or even leaving the bus for that matter. After 2 1/2 weeks of searching, waiting, wailing, and feeling, I was being summoned to Tuscon, AZ to play a show with a group of friends. I sat on my bed and unearthed the spirit animal deck that hid under my altar.
“Lazuli,” I thought out loud. “Can I leave? Can I continue my journey?”
I hated asking this question, as the very concept of leaving Quartzsite without her made my stomach turn. What if she comes back and I’m gone?
As I shuffled the deck, a card bolted itself onto my bed. It was “The Manatee”, and its message was “Accept the situation as it is, rather than fighting to change it.” My heart sunk, and yet I felt a sense of relief. So I continued to Tuscon while keeping an eye on “Lost pets of Quartzsite” Facebook page, just in case.
For the next couple years, I had one animal companion, Azez. Something about his mannerisms and personality made me laugh constantly. He was my familiar. Being as sensitive as he was, he taught me how to connect to my energy and manipulate it responsibly. By this I mean, if I would come into the bus ungrounded and scatter-brained after socializing with a group of people, and try to approach him while he peacefully laid on the bed, he would often resist my affections. But when I came in, and took a moment to just be and ground myself down, and then approached him, he would purr and welcome my company. I experimented with this a bit until I eventually learned how to ground my inner chaos in just moments. Cats are especially sensitive, and I believe people that aren’t “cat people” are often just not energetically accountable or aware.
Losing Lazuli was a reality check, and even though some part of me wanted to protect Azez by keeping him confined to the bus, he wouldn’t have it. When I closed the windows at night he literally bounced off the walls, keeping me up all night. When the sun set, he needed the expanse of the world. Azez and I continued to travel around the country. We went to rainbow gatherings, hiked up mountains, and crossed streams. He was the one being I was able to be utterly myself around. I could dance, cry, manically laugh at my own jokes, and fester. He just witnessed, maybe with some judgement, but it was always a wise kind of judgement. The kind that reflects back to me something I already know deep inside. I didn’t have to sleep in the bus for him to find me. If I slept in a tent, or a friend’s yurt, or just outside under the stars— in his nightly exploration he would find me, and be snuggled up with me by dawn.
One night Azez did something that particularly stood out to me. It was a new moon, and my lover at the time (Oyv) and I were sitting on the bed in the bus setting intentions for the coming moon cycle. While we individually reflected and wrote down our personal thoughts, Azez hopped in through the window with a rabbit. Usually when it came to native animals such as a rabbit, if unharmed, I’d remove it from his grasp and release it back to the wild. But this time I let him be with it.
Oyv said “Whoa that feels like an omen. Maybe he’ll leave us the feet for good luck.”
As Azez crunched away, we continued to journal. And guess what, Azez ate every single part of the rabbit (intestines, colon, and all) except for its two feet. Oyv and I took the feet and buried them along with our new moon intentions.
In fall of 2022 when I grounded in Taos, I was a little concerned how the transition would be for Azez; to go from living in a moving vehicle his whole life, to being still in one place through a winter. The structure was very earthy, there was a high shelf for him to perch on, and I always kept the window cracked for him. He adjusted well. Although he maintained his outdoor curiosity throughout the winter, he definitely spent more time in the wood heated cottage with me. When spring rolled in we moved back into the bus. I spent a lot of nights parked outside my partner’s (Solly) house, often sleeping in his room and going into the bus in the mornings to feed, water, and check on Azez. As summer approached, my best friend Arianna and I started to plan a three-week trip to Ireland. This would be the longest time Azez and I would ever spend apart.
I reached out to my friend Petra—someone I trusted and whom had a connection with Azez—to ask if she’d stay in my bus with him during my time in Ireland. She was happy to. We planned to meet up to talk logistics, and maybe even have a little ritual.
We met up at a park, cooked dinner in the bus, and ate it while watching the sunset on top of the janky yellow deck atop my green colorful nomadic home.
After dinner we made an alter for Azez. Petra brought a jar of feathers, and I laid down some crystals that represent protection (black tourmaline, obsidian, and shungite). Once the alter was displayed, I pulled a card from the same animal oracle deck I mentioned earlier, and what came out was the “Snake” card.
Snake medicine was very prevalent the past couple weeks leading up to this moment. At a festival I was at earlier that month, a friend let me wear a sterling silver ring he made with many snake shapes imbued into it. That same weekend at the festival I pulled the snake oracle card, and on my way out of the festival—after just returning the ring to my friend—I had to bring the bus to a halt on the dirt road as a huge rattlesnake crossed. I shared these synchronicities with Petra, and then I pulled my “Animal Spirit Guides” book by Steven D. Farmer, PH.D out, and flipped it open to The Snake. While reading about their messages of transformation and rebirth, Azez jumped up into the window of the bus, and dropped a garter snake on the floor right next to us. If this story doesn’t iterate how magical Azez is, I’m not sure what will.
The snake laid in place frozen for about thirty minutes while we continued talking about its spiritual messages. Eventually when I went to examine it closer, I realized the snake was still alive, picked it up, and gave it back to the leafy mulch outside with a gentle “thank you” under my breath.
Petra and I said prayers that night for Azez’s protection during my trip to Ireland. May he know that I will return to him. I imagined him living a long life, one where the two of us would find land to live on and witness each other grow in older age. He curiously sniffed around the altar.
Our protection prayers were successful, and Azez remained safe during my time in Ireland. But three mornings after my return, he didn’t return. My bus was parked outside of Solly’s house. After four days of his absence I felt extremely vulnerable as I posted flyers of his precious wild face all over town. I hated the idea of making Azez (and myself) susceptible to people’s fearful projections. It wasn’t super unlike Azez to not return for a full day—it had happened before—but four days was too long. I abhorred when people responded to the news of my missing cat with “Oh no, I’m sorry to hear that. There are so many coyotes around here.” As though that helps anyone. If only they knew Azez’s incredible survival skills. I mean hell, he survived a whole winter on the Taos Mesa; a place where hungry coyotes wandered at sunset, hunched and curious just yards from my doorstep. Azez was capable, and I never doubted his ability to fend for himself. He knew his limits and rarely tested them. There were a few times he startled me bolting as fast as he could into the bus at 11pm, clearly spooked by something. Knowing his vocal tones, I would often keep my senses aware in case of emergency. One night when the bus was parked in Crestone, CO (a very small town with hardly any cars driving through at night), I was sitting on my bed journaling when I heard Azez outside making some kind of “eeeeeeurrrrrrrrrr” noise. You know, that uncanny sound cats make when they’re about to fight. I knew he was in some sort of predicament and without hesitation, before I knew it I was outside facing four coyotes circling Azez in the middle of the street.
“AHHHH!!!!! GET! GET! GET!” strange unfamiliar sounds emanated from my lips while I scurried toward them. They all dispersed as I watched as Azez quickly run into the bus. I rolled the windows up that night and he didn’t argue. In fact, he seemed pretty grateful.
Those two and half years spent with Azez felt like lifetimes. You know when you go on an adventure with a friend to a new place, and one day seems almost like four? You somehow cram so much into that one day, that you seem to escape the confines of time. Well that was mine and Azez’s whole timeline together. Constant adventure, traveling, realization, and self discovery. He was there with me in the most turbulent of times, and the most glorious. He was the first one who I told I was going to write a book about my life. I took macro doses of mushrooms in his presence and realized how he was always on that level. He supported me in a time of life where I needed sovereignty without loneliness by offering me pure companionship.
Similar to when Lazuli went missing, I kept my bus stationed where he left it, for over a month. I thought about him everyday. I cried most days, just praying for his safe return. I had incredible lucid dreams of reuniting with him, only to wake up in a room empty of him. I wanted people to understand my grief, but felt no-one could. Even though many close friends of mine developed their own unique connection with Azez, I still felt so alone. It’s just a cat, I’d invalidate myself. People lose their best friends, their parents, their children. Yet somehow, he felt like all of those archetypes to me. I didn’t know how to hold my grief. It wasn’t until about six months after his disappearance that I stopped thinking about him everyday.
I lost my two month old brother when I was nine years old. I even attempted CPR to resurrect his dead body; yet that feeling didn’t even equate to the pain I felt now, losing my most beloved animal counterpart. And the worst part? I had no closure. I didn’t know if someone took him him, if he was run over, eaten by another animal, or just stuck in a tree somewhere. A few months after he left I was given the opportunity to move into my own room in the house my partner lived in, and which my bus was parked outside. It was getting cold, I had to find somewhere to live, and I liked the idea that just in case Azez did came back, my bus would be where he left it.
When he left it felt weird to be in my bus. Maybe this is what it’s like when a parent leaves their dead child’s room the way it was when they were around. Sometimes I’d feel his presence on the bed, about to jump onto the counter to scope what I was cheffing up, only to be confronted by my own imagination— my own heartbreak again and again.
Almost every single circumstance in life (even those that are celebrated) also hold grief. If you are a new mother celebrating the birth of your child, grief resides tenderly in the background, asking you to feel the reality of transitioning out of maidenhood. If you’re celebrating the publication of something, you may grieve the parts of you that didn’t want to be seen, yet now are.
I once learned from an inspiring teacher, Martín Prechtel, that with all praise, comes grief.
Now, when I need to access the portal of grief I carry in my body around so many things: the state of the world, my mom’s instability, the fact that my family and my beloved will all die one day, the fact that I will die one day, the fact that everything is always changing; I think about Azez. The deeply painful experience of losing such a close being to my heart showed me the capacity I have to love. So when I feel disconnected from my grief, I think about him and efficiently reenter into the stinging, raw, and beautifully clear world of grief.
Last night for the first time since Azez’s departure from my life, I finally went back and watched all of the videos that I accumulated over my time with him and sweet Lazuli. Here is a compilation. Lots of tears were shed in the making of this<3
With Vulnerability,
Turiya