One night Merlin went outside, as he always did at that time of evening, and I never saw him again. He quickly became my “family,” and for the next three years he was with me each evening while I prepared dinner, and he napped beside my ancient Apple computer while I wrote my first book. Soon, Merlin and I found ourselves on a cross-country journey to my home in the high desert of northern New Mexico. By the end of the week, Merlin and I were good friends, and I found myself tremendously attached to the little miracle with such a will to live. He would watch me shave from the edge of the bathroom sink and stand on the edge of the bathtub as I showered. During the week of the program, he slept with me each night and sat with me each morning as I ate breakfast. Acknowledging his magical strength and sheer will to survive, they named him Merlin.įinding my room that evening, Merlin meowed at the door until I gave in to my urge to care for every animal on the entire planet and let him in. The mother cat emerged from her hiding place carrying a tiny heap of bones and fur that had survived all that time without food! Immediately the staff began to nurse the kitten back to health. A few days later a small miracle occurred. By the time the employees of the inn discovered what had happened, they believed that all the kittens had died. My newfound friend had been born about five weeks earlier to a young female cat who could not nurse her litter. A tiny black kitten wandered down the hallway and found his way into my room and my heart. One week in the early 1990s, I was leading a seminar at an inn in Mount Shasta, California. Some of my most compelling relationships have been with animals.