WARNING: This Devo may contain TMI with regard to a cat's, um, bathroom behavior.
Last Friday, I greeted our family cat in the basement while he was in his litter box. I, kindly, averted my eyes and went about my business (laundry). Then, after several minutes, I realized that my cat was still hanging out in his litter box. Being that I've known this cat for the latter five years of his life (and the near entirety of my married life), I knew this was a bad sign.
Thus, a day of total chaos began. I called the vet. I made an appointment. I struggled to shove that stinking cat into the cat taxi. I got cat hair in my lip gloss. I drug my kids with me to the vet. We waited. The kids went nuts. The vet said, "If your cat doesn't urinate by 5 p.m., he needs to come in for a surgery. This surgery would save his life, and it is very expensive. It could potentially run you over $1,000, so . . . just know that."
I paid the vet bill for that office visit (which was already a chunk of change). I took the kids and the cat back home, and I spent the afternoon praying (well, among other duties of mine throughout the course of a regular weekday afternoon) for my cat to pee.
At 4 p.m., the vet called and asked if the cat had done the deed, and I was heartbroken to say that he hadn't. The vet then basically said I needed to act fast and get in there, or he could (and most likely would) die.
I asked God what I should do. I knew it was ridiculous to consider spending $1,000 on an 8-year-old cat, but, I went there in my thoughts. I don't even like the stupid cat most of the time, but I felt like I should do everything I could to help him (my husband and kids adore him, and oddly enough, there is actually place in my heart for him). I was a mess. I cried. I felt incredibly helpless.
Then, I remembered this little gem that friend Micah Leigh recently repeated during an email correspondence: