Miraculous days start "normally" – and on this fateful day, I was back home with my family for Christmas after returning from 500 miles away, having taken care of my mother for a year.

Since our cats' brand of litter had not been to our liking, we drove 25 miles to Eugene, Oregon to find a substitute at one of their twelve or more pet stores.

The kitty litter aisle was forty feet long, which made our choice all the more complicated. We did not want pine litter, as it is hard on the lungs. We had tried the newspaper brands and crushed walnuts; and we were not sold on the clumping brands because it attached to our Persians' long fur. All of these factors meant that we were reading bag after bag of clay and crystal litters to find the best fit.

When someone pushed their grocery cart up to the litter section, I approached them like the "kitty-rozzi" so I could interview them about their choice: "Have you used this brand long? Does it hold odor? How often do you change it? Do you have long or short haired cats?" Everyone smiled and graciously participated in our survey.

We then began comparing their selections. During our hour of research, none of the customers shared their cats' names.

Finally, this beautiful, blue-eyed woman with shoulder-length white hair reminiscent of a white Persian cat tossed a bag of litter into her cart.

I noted her kind face and purr-ceded to ask her my list of questions – and during those few seconds of divine timing our lives merged in a city of 160,000.

When she responded, "We have two short haired cats," I quipped, "Oh, you look like someone who would have Persians."

She stopped, caught her breath and quietly said, "We did have two—and loved them. But ‘Myrakle' died a year ago."

I already knew the answer to my next questions before I even asked, so I began crying.