I used to have a cat named Mister. Like most cats, he was an asshole. He’d knock over shit in the kitchen, throw up on the wood floors, and never offer to clean up the mess. I’d be in the kitchen trying to eat my damn breakfast, and the little jerk would suddenly appear on the table as if he owned the place. He liked to hide behind corners until I walked by, and then he’d jump out, tag me as if we were playing a game, and then run away. It was all very cute except for the fact that he still had claws, which would often get stuck in my skin (that bleeds). On rare occasions, Mister would stop scratching, stop chewing, and simply lie on my stomach or around my neck like a scarf. But only when he wanted to.

A few weeks ago I was having dinner with my friends Bonnie and Todd and told them I was fascinated by the way animals do whatever the hell they want. For instance, I said, if a cat wants to be around you, it just snuggles right up without even asking. Maybe it rubs your leg, perches on your shoulder like a parrot, or sits in your lap, but it basically says, Here I am. Love me. A few minutes later, Todd got up to get something from the refrigerator, and when he came back to the table, he sat down in my lap–like a cat–and we all started laughing. I thought, Good thing I didn’t use the example of a dog sniffing someone’s crotch.

Later when Bonnie and I were in Austin, she observed that I often ask waiters and waitresses a lot of questions. Where are you from? Why’d you get that tattoo? Who does your hair? “I guess I do,” I said, “I’m almost always curious, and you can learn a lot by talking to strangers.” But Bonnie’s point was that my asking questions of strangers was a lot like a cat crawling up in someone’s lap. Here I am. Talk to me.

This afternoon Bonnie and I ate lunch at Joe’s Mexican Restaurant in Fort Smith. How I’ve managed to live here my entire life and just now find out that Joe’s has delicious tacos for one dollar a piece on Tuesdays, I’ll never know. But seriously, if you’re not already, it’s time to start spreading the taco gospel. Hungry? Fear not, my child. Salvation is near–and affordable.

Anyway, while Bonnie and I were partaking in “taco communion,” there was a lady in the booth beside us who was making balloon animals. I’m not kidding. She was like a clown at a kid’s birthday party–but dressed better. Well, not to be creepy, but I sneaked a picture of this lady blowing up a long, white balloon–right by her chips and salsa. And then I put it on Instagram. (This is the world we live in.) So a few of my friends started commenting. I know her! She makes balloons at my school. And then my hairdresser insisted. GO TALK TO HER.

Of course, I know better than to argue with my hairdresser, but I said, “She’s on her cellphone–and it looks like it came over the ark. Really. It looks like a brick. All that’s missing is a bag.”

“Marcus,” she said, “some things in life are worth waiting for.”

And then the lady got off the phone.

Fine. I’ll be a cat. Here I am. What big balloons you have.

Oh my god, y’all, everyone was right. Bonnie and I introduced ourselves, and the lady immediately gave me a balloon panda, the one she apparently made while I was stuffing six dollars worth of tacos in my mouth.

And then she opened up her purse and it was FILLED with balloons of every color. It was like she was a balloon–dealer. “What would you like me to make you?” she said with a smile, and then before I could even ask, “Could make one that looks like Zac Efron?” she said, “I know, I’ll make you an apple.”

“Sure, an apple sounds–delicious.”

And then–and then–she made a monkey–climbing a tree–to get a banana. She even talked to the monkey as she “helped” him climb the tree. Climb the tree, monkey. Doesn’t that banana look tasty?

The lady, who said her name was Carolyn, said she’d been making balloon animals for thirty years. She said, “God has all the talent, and he lets me have all the fun.” When we got ready to leave and Bonnie apologized for keeping Carolyn from her chicken fajitas, she said, “That’s secondary.” Naturally, I asked Carolyn if I could take her picture, but she pointed to a bandage on her cheek and said, “Don’t you dare. I just had surgery.” (I’m not Catholic, but I feel like this is the point at which I should say, “Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. I took a picture of a balloon lady at a Mexican restaurant and posted it online without her knowledge.”)

Afterwards Bonnie and I went shopping to look at furniture, and I carried the panda around with me. When I got home, I gave it to my mom. The whole affair really helped make my day. It was sort of like a tiny miracle, if miracles even come in sizes. So I’ve been thinking this evening about the little ways in which we give to each other, how it truly is simple to share a smile, a story, a talent, even with someone you don’t even know.

Byron Katie, a spiritual teacher, tells a story about once when she sat down on an airplane, exhausted. She held the hand of the man beside her, even though they’d never met, and then fell asleep. She says when she woke up, he was still holding her hand. Perhaps it sounds bizarre, but Katie uses the story to illustrate the idea that our true nature is kindness. We want to help. We want to share with each other. So whereas I’m not suggesting that you reach out and grab just anyone’s hand or go around sitting in the laps of strangers, I am suggesting that if you feel like being a cat and saying, Here I am. Love me. Tell me about your big balloons, it’s not unreasonable to expect a positive response–and maybe–just maybe–a tiny miracle.