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Richmond's Own Dr. Dolittle

Meet Terri Chenault, Richmond's "pet psychic" extraordinaire.

Richmond.com

Colleen Curran
Richmond.com
Monday, March 24, 2003

Did you know Richmond has its very own pet psychic?

Peep this: Glen Allen's Terri Chenault talks to animals. Bow-wow-wow, yippee-yo-yippee-yay.

"Why don't you tell your cats that I'm coming to visit?" Terri said when I called her after checking out her website ITalkWithAnimals.com. "Tell them I'm coming and if they have anything to say, they can tell me," she said sweetly, sounding exactly like my best friend's mom or Mrs. Cleaver from "Leave It to Beaver."

I love my job, folks. How else could I get a bonafide "animal communicator" to come over to my house without getting mocked and verbally abused by my friends?

Time for a kitty-kat chitchat at Casa de Colleen. Oh yeah.

I've got two cats, Selkei and St. John, at home. They're brother and sister. They're pretty cool for cats (my roots run deep as a dog person, but I live in an apartment in the Fan). Only problem: I recently moved in with my boyfriend and St. John, my orange boy, has yet to deal gracefully with the new addition.

St. John cries all night long. He complains. He whines. And now, he's started staying out all night long. Partying. Rabble-rousing. Who knows? He'll come home two days later with a ripped ear and a self-satisfied look on his face, like a second grade school boy with a shiner.

I had no idea what an "animal communicator" would look like while I was waiting for Terri. I guess I was picturing a goofy New Age diva, the kind of madame who walks around in gauzy white robes and a matching turban. Instead, when Terri showed up at my apartment, she looked like any other middle-aged soccer mom you'd see pushing a cart at Ukrop's. Only Terri would be the lady with the dangly cat earrings and matching cat brooch pinned to her lapel.

"Hi there!" Terri exclaimed as I led her into the apartment. Right away, the cats came bounding to check her out. Terri bent down to rub noses with my grey girl, Selkei, and they immediately struck up a rapport. "Oh, she's just a love bug," Terri said. "Now where's the boy you're having trouble with?"

In a few minutes, St. John came swaggering into the room. He's a big guy, with a big, bushy orange tail. "Do you have anything to say, St. John?" Terri asked as he stalked the living room.

"He says," Terri's voice got high-pitched like a baby girl's, "He says, 'You just wouldn't believe all the activity in this house!'" Her voice dropped a few octaves into her regular speaking voice, "There's lots of little spirits floating through this house. Little energy balls that come in and exercise your cats during the day."

Wait a minute. Energy balls? Spirits? My cats see dead people?

"Energy balls can be spirits or ghosts, depending on the house," Terri explained. "They're like little nature spirits or like fairies. They just kind of float through and exercise kitties that are by themselves."

Okay...whatever. Terri went on to tell me that many of these old houses in the Fan are haunted, especially a certain house on West Grace Street which "seems to be a hub of activity," although Terri refused to tell me which house exactly because it belongs to a client and she's trying to clean it out.

"So tell me, do animals really talk to you?" I asked Terri.

"They can hear me, oh yeah," Terri said with certainty. "Basically, I communicate with animals through pictures and telepathically. They send me pictures, I have to receive the pictures, translate them and then I send them back pictures." Terri reached out a hand to scratch St. John between the ears. "Right now, St. John is showing me something to eat. He's showing me a can of wet food. Does he get wet food?"

I smiled and agreed yes, he does get wet food. "Good guess," I thought to myself.

I told Terri about St. John's all-night party sessions and a concerned look swept over her face. Terri has 16 cats at home and you can tell she's crazy about every single one of them.

"St. John, we have to strike a bargain here, buddy," Terri said in a stern voice. This is Terri's specialty, according to her website. Clients call Terri when they're having problems with their pets, like when a cat pees inappropriately or when a dog is really sick and the veterinarian is unable to figure out why, Terri is called in to "communicate" with the animal and solve the problem.

"St. John, if you continue staying out all night, you won't be able to go outside anymore. There's a lot of critters that come out at night and might hurt you." While Terri talked, St. John did a good job of ignoring her. First he sat down and started cleaning himself. He licked his legs and his tail. "When we get down to making bargains, animals tend to have a bit of a hard time with it. He's trying to ignore me," Terri confessed.

St. John responded by licking his butt.

"Momma gets upset when you stay out all night. Can you understand that? Can we talk about that, St. John?" Terri asked. St. John hopped up on the table and sat with his back to her. I've never seen him sit like that before. "He says he'd rather not. But that's okay, I'm going to talk about it anyway." Terri continued to chat in her baby girl voice at St. John's stony back, "Can you come in when momma's ready to go to bed, St. John? Are we okay with that? Are we okay? Will you come in? Will you?"

I was really impressed with Terri's tenacity. Finally, after about five minutes, St. John jumped down from the table and shot Terri a nasty, sour look. "He's agreeing," Terri said, "but he's not real pleased about it."

It was a funny experience, to sit in my living room with somebody who says they're "communicating" with my pets, because it didn't feel as weird as I thought it would (aside from the "energy balls" comment). Because basically, you're chatting with your pets all day. All the "stop that's" and "don't do that's" and "good boy, good handsome boy." But here's somebody who's made it their job to chat with your animals. I can dig it.

But here's what cinched the deal.

Terri and I chatted some more, about her cats, my cats. I told her that sometimes St. John gets in fights with a neighborhood cat. I didn't tell her that the cat is a big, bruising white and grey bully. Instead, I told her he comes home with scratches, cuts, and once with broken cat nails imbedded in his face. I had to take him to the vet for stitches.

"St. John, show me a picture of that cat you fight with," Terri called to St. John who started cleaning himself again. "I get the feeling that's it's an unneutered male who starts the fights. He's a big cat. A big, grey and white cat. That's the picture I'm getting."

Whoa. Right on the money, pet psychic!

Terri told me that St. John is "barely tolerating" the new boyfriend, but I already knew that. She also told me that I could learn how to talk to my pets if I wanted to. How? "By watching their body language. By listening to whatever comes into your head, if they're showing you a picture," Terri explained.

And that was basically it.

It's been a week since our meeting with "Richmond's very own pet psychic." And so far, so good. St. John hasn't stayed out all night since. Bow-wow-wow-yippee-yo-yippee-yay.

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