Miracles Do Happen . . . Even for a Cat

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:

"Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus." (Phil. 4:6-7)

Once I remembered that passage, it was as if an autopilot switch came on. I slowed down. I continued with my day as if I would normally. I kept an eye on the cat, and I continued to pray, of course. In fact, I got my 3-year-old daughter in on the action. Together, we said a prayer for the cat. "Dear God, Please let our kitty pee. Amen."

Then, I made the difficult phone call to the vet to let them know we would not be coming in for the surgery. My husband and I knew quite well (and expected it, realistically) that we could be putting our cat to sleep on Monday, but we kept praying that maybe he would just get better. We cried (well, it may have just been me, but I know Willis at least wanted to). I was beginning to accept that he was going to be gone soon, and I was also prepping myself for his bleak few days ahead.

In the morning, we were up early (always—our son is an alarm clock), and we were preparing to head to my parents' house for a long-planned visit. Just before we left, Willis ran up from the basement and told me to come look: the cat had peed! It wasn't much. It didn't necessarily mean at the time that the cat was going to be okay, but we at least knew there was hope (and reinforcing that, perhaps, not doing the surgery and dumping a load of cash was truly the right decision).

This afternoon, I checked the cat's box again to find that he's finally urinating more. As embarrassing as it is to actually acknowledge the fact that I shouted, "Thank God!" while staring into a cat litter box in my basement, it is still a real miracle. He's going to be okay!