I want to share my experience of prophetic dreams. It is not a near-death experience, but these events also serve as evidence—at least for me—of the existence of life beyond the earthly realm. I feel compelled to share my story because it involves the efforts of higher beings to save an animal, with the same urgency and compassion as the many stories of human rescue in your archives. For me, and perhaps for others, this is very important, because there is so little information about what place animals occupy—both on this side and the other side of the veil.

A few months before my cat died from an attack by stray dogs in my yard, I began to have dreams. I saw a house surrounded by nothing—no fence around it. I understood this symbol very clearly. I kept telling my mother that I was having recurring dreams of a house without a fence. You know, it's hard to convey a symbol like that. It's easier to describe the presence of something than its absence. I also felt that something ominous and dangerous was tied to it.

Then I had another dream with the same symbol: the house with no fence. I clearly recognized its absence. A woman I had seen in a previous dream (she had appeared to me 4–5 years earlier when another of my cats passed away) came to me again. She pointed toward the forest, which was located uphill from where we stood. I looked and saw three dogs running. She said to me: "Look, they’re coming for you."

I woke up and thought the dream was strange, but I was so caught up with work, status, and career that I didn’t take the time to analyze it or even tell anyone about it.

A few days or weeks later, I had another dream. Again, the same symbol: the house with no fence. The same woman stood next to it. I clearly knew it was my house, even though it didn’t look like the one I own. She stood with her arms stretched wide and shouted: “No fence! No fence!” I woke up in terror in the early morning. I was lying on my back and realized that a real being—my angel, a guide, or someone close to me—had been speaking to me. Out loud I said, “But I do have a fence. Everywhere except the area near the lake.”

Then I turned my gaze toward the window, which faced the unfenced part by the lake—and I instantly fell back into sleep. I didn’t remember the dream after waking. It came back to me much later.

A few days or weeks passed again. In the next dream, I was lying in bed, very sleepy, looking toward the window. I felt a murderer walking outside. I thought, “Let him walk—it’s not like he can get me in here.” I drifted into sleep. Then I saw something—like a transparent blot—moving toward me from the window. My last thought was: “He killed me.” I hadn’t expected that I would die. I later forgot this dream as well.

A few more days passed. On the eve of the tragedy, I was overwhelmed by a terrible fear that one of my other cats would be attacked by dogs. I truly didn’t realize it would happen right in my yard—and to a different cat.

On February 20, 2025, around 7:20 a.m., during the exact time of my cat Lyubomyr’s death (name slightly altered for readability in English), I had the following dream: I was walking on a street on the far side of the lake. I was asking people if they had seen my cat Lev (also a pseudonym—he’s the cat who survived). Then I heard a voice: “Don’t go there. There are dogs. They might kill.” But I went anyway and saw three dogs. Then everything disappeared.

The woman from my previous dreams appeared again. She said, “Look—is this him?” She was holding something in her hands. I couldn’t see what it was, but I knew we were talking about one of my cats. I said, “I can’t see, but I’ll try to feel.” I placed my hands on the being she held—still unable to see it—and said: “Yes, this is Lev. This is my Lev.” But she replied, “No, this is not Lev.”

I woke up. One of my cats was sitting at the glass front door, meowing. I knew something was wrong. I went to the door and saw three dogs in the yard, surrounding Lyubomyr. I ran outside, chased the dogs off, and saw them flee across the frozen lake—the only part of my yard without a fence.

My cat lay there, his lower body paralyzed. He had been bitten and was dying. At 7:20 a.m., when I woke from the dream, only one veterinary clinic was open—the worst one, with the most inexperienced doctor. She didn’t even think to give him pain relief. Instead, she yanked his legs, spun him on the X-ray table for over an hour, and kept telling me he was fine—that nothing was seriously wrong. She didn’t even notice the wounds. She couldn’t tell he was dying of shock. I had ended up with the worst vet in the city. When we returned home, around 10:30 a.m., my beloved Lyubomyr died.

But the dreams didn’t stop there.

The very first night after his death, I dreamed of him again. He joyfully jumped over a fence near one of the structures in our yard. I was hiding beside that structure, peeking around so he wouldn’t see me. In my head, I heard a voice: “See? He’s fine.” Then I woke up. I couldn’t understand for a long time why I tried to watch him without being seen.

The following months were torment. I blamed myself for taking him to that incompetent vet, especially knowing that by 8 a.m., our trusted family doctor had already started his shift. But I hadn’t been able to reach him by phone. I hated myself for allowing my beloved cat to suffer so much in his final hours. I didn’t give him a peaceful death. I didn’t even manage to get him pain relief.

About a month or month and a half later, I had another dream. I saw the lake and heard a male voice say, “There were two cats. One of them she saved.” I still don’t know what that means. At first, I thought maybe the incompetent vet had somehow saved Lyubomyr’s soul, even if she couldn’t save his body—perhaps because his soul, so worn from the pain, could easily pass on and not linger near me, as pet souls are often said to do. But I’m not sure. I still don’t know why the word “saved” was used.

Then I shifted my focus—from blaming the vet to wondering what my dear Lyubomyr was feeling now. I asked a question out loud and opened a book at random, placing my finger on a word. The word was: “Don’t worry.”

That night, I had the last dream related to this story. I saw nothing—but I felt what people might call Nirvana: complete and utter contentment, so profound that I forgot who I was. When I woke, I realized I had never experienced anything like it before. It was perfect peace, love, comfort, joy, and abundance. My mind could not have invented such a feeling from any prior experience. I believe this was the answer to my question about what Lyubomyr is feeling now.

For months after Lyubomyr’s death, I didn’t remember all the dreams that had preceded it—except for the one I had during the time of his death. I remembered all the details of that dream except the woman. I forgot even the very first dream with her, from years ago. I started keeping a journal and writing down everything that led to the event.

I wrote in my diary: “Why didn’t I have any warning dreams?” (A little about me: I’ve rescued cats for the past 8 years, and every time one of them was in danger or died, I would have symbolic dreams—like a living cat eating from the same bowl as one who had already passed away.)

I asked my angels: “Why didn’t you warn me about Lyubomyr?” Then suddenly, memories began to flood back. I slowly remembered all those dreams and their details—and the woman. I’m still trying to understand them.

I never dreamed of Lyubomyr’s death—I dreamed of my own death. In my research into life beyond, I learned that a soul can live multiple lives at once. And I began to feel that Lyubomyr was me—another part of me, another life I was living simultaneously. Otherwise, I can’t explain why in all those dreams I sensed a threat to my own life.

I’m still working through all of this. I’ve rescued many animals, and some I couldn’t save. But with Lyubomyr, I can’t find peace. The guilt I feel is deeper than the ocean. I was being warned all along. I had the means and resources to build that damned fence! After his death, I hired workers and within two days, the fence was up. Why couldn’t I have done it sooner?

Thank you so much to your site and to Dr. Bruce Greyson. Deepest gratitude to Bruce Greyson—your work helped me survive this loss. For me, animals are my children.