Signs and Omens

Of course yesterday was the 13th of the month, and as I was driving to work a black cat crossed my path. I crossed both fingers and kept them crossed through a couple of traffic lights and past several hills, until the maleficent influence of the cat compounded with the baleful number of the day could be left behind. So I didn't have any accidents, even driving with crossed fingers. So far, so good.

But you can't have too much good luck, or be too aggressive in warding off the bad. I was at my desk, doing some proofreading, and I felt a gentle tickle on my arm. It was a tiny gnat, green body and clear wings, clambering through the hair on my arm. Now, I'm not pegged to the nutso end of the animal-rights continuum. I eat meat avidly, I kill ants with bloodthirsty enthusiasm, and I catch fish because I get a charge out of it. But I had mercy on this gnat, which had done me no harm. I got up, holding my arm out so it wouldn't be alarmed and fly away. I went down the hall, holding my sleeve to avoid knocking it off. Out the door. Down the stairs. Out the building door. With a puff of breath, I sent the gnat on its way, to find whatever destiny lay before it. It would live the life a gnat was meant to live, courtesy of me. It just seemed like an opportunity to help, somehow.

Later that day the vet called with the results of my cat's renal panel—blood tests to determine his level of kidney function. It was normal. Normal! The cat almost died several times during the winter, he was a day or two away from it. He endured multiple emergency runs to the hospital, he was hospitalized for a week twice, he had two operations, he spent days attached to tubes, crouching in a cage, full of fear and misery. But they did brilliant work and fixed him, and his own healing powers kicked in, and now that number is normal. He can, for as long as he can manage, continue to be a happy little creature, affectionate and gentle. If you don't know, cats are very much capable of sweetness. People use that very term, "sweet," and he's the avatar of feline sweetness. Just a gentle soul, like Tom Hanks or Henry Fonda. And he's won back, for a time, the life of peace and comfort he deserves.

I don't think the crossed fingers or released gnat had anything to do with that, really. It was mostly good genes and good doctoring. But how did they hurt? Hmm? No answer? I didn't think so.