If you know me, you know that I am absolutely obsessed with my cat. Fatberry is assertive, confident, and a world-class snuggler. He hates everyone in the world except for me, and Dan. He’s friends to only two people, but he is the best friend we could ask for. He has been my constant quarantine buddy – it would have been a miserable 2020-21 without him. He curls up belly-up on my lap, and snuggles his head into me while I gaze upon him and meditate on our deep love for an hour at a time. We’re real good buds. 
In September 2020, he threw up over and over again all night. I rushed him to the vet, where they did an ultrasound and determined that sediment was blocking his urinary system. It was grim. They said either he would pass it and be fine, or he would not, and euthenasia would be the kindest choice. The vets said they would push IV fluids for the next couple of days, and there wasn’t anything to do but wait. Thinking of my proud, sweet boy in a stainless steel cage, wearing a cone, with a catheter in his leg – picturing it even now brings me to tears. It seemed unlikely that he would make it. It would take a miracle.
Without anything else to do, I guess you could say I prayed. Well, not exactly. I didn’t get down on my knees and ask anyone for anything. I meditated. I pictured his little kidneys, and willed the blockage to pass. With every ounce of desire I had, I visualized one thing: Breathe in – all the power. Breathe out – FLUSH. I wished for it so, so hard.
And it happened.
He flushed the blockage – the vet was astonished. I was certain this was the end, and instead, he was miraculously cured.
Then, only two months later, the little turdburglar did it again. Violent vomiting, hospitalization, the cage, the cone, the ultrasound. Fatberry was in terrible pain, and again it looked like he might be in too much distress to live. This time, it was a hairball. A f*cking hairball, blocking his intestine, and making him so, so sick. Still, great news that it was something that could be cured. He would need surgery, unless he could pass it on his own. Fluids, waiting, hoping. Meditating again, with all the earnestness at my command – FLUSH.
And again he passed it. This f*ckin’ guy. This tough little bastard. Snatching life from the jaws of death – or at least from the jaws of major abdominal surgery. Another miracle.
I don’t know if you’ve ever wished for something big, and had it happen. Maybe you think of it as praying your hardest and having your prayers answered. I know my non-secular brethren in the recovery community, with great satisfaction, would say that my Higher Power interceded on my behalf. I know a person or two who believe in Law of Attraction stuff who say I manifested that sh*t. I’m trying to figure out what it all means, but I’ve never been able to extend spirituality into realms of things there is no evidence for – God, molecules that respond to wishes, stuff like that. But here it is: Miracles; miracles I begged for. Not once, but twice.
I’m overwhelmed with gratitude, but I don’t know who to thank.
The idea for these writings came from this whole experience. After Fatberry’s second hospitalization, I was overcome with the sense that this had to have meaning, that I had had experiences that I didn’t know how to describe. I felt like I needed to talk about those experiences, to try to make meaning out of it and see if anyone hearing about it might have ideas about what it means too. I wanted to say that I had felt a benevolent universe move through me, and suggest that if we listen closely, we might feel kindly forces giving us the good answer sometimes. What I do know is that people way more deserving than me have been subjected to something much crueller in the universe. People have asked for millenia, when things go well, when things go badly – “Why me?”
I had the idea that maybe writing, with the idea that people would also try to understand, might help me find some meaning in the unexpected generosity I’ve seen. I felt compelled to share that I have been experimenting with ways of thinking of the spiritual world that have helped me feel connected, grateful, and exposed to deep mysteries that I don’t fully understand. I’m confused. I’m awestruck. I’m thankful. I’m not equipped to provide answers, with an understanding that’s barely even adequate enough to lay out what happened and why I’m mystified. If there’s something the universe is asking me to say, the only thing I really can say is that I don’t know what it’s saying. But I’m listening.
Frankly I’m not sure how to even formulate the question. Today, the closest I can get to it is, “What can I do to be worthy of this outrageously good fortune?” It feels like a very galvanizing question, like I need to perform esteemable acts to earn it. Occasionally the Bible has some wisdom to drop: To whom much has been given, much is required. I’ve got incredible privilege – as an American, as an upper-middle-class white person, as Fatberry’s best friend. There’s nothing I could do to really be deserving of the mountains of favor I benefit from. But I like the idea of approaching all this privilege like I have to work to deserve it, even if others are just as deserving, and not as lucky. It’s what motivated me to write to you today.