It’s one thing to know you need a little joy in your life. It’s quite another to try and find it.

When my life slipped down the rabbit hole that families dealing with catastrophic illness find themselves, the sorrow soaked deep in my bones. Tears were too ready to tumble down my checks.

With determination to ease the pain, I decided to count my blessings. Both my children are healthy. My daughter, a high school senior, is accepted at the universities she applied to and can choose her path. My son is doing well at his second year of medical school.

I have the support of wonderful friends, neighbors and colleagues; a loving husband; a job I enjoy; and a comfortable home where I can rest.

The crisis facing our family has brought us closer. We take turns leaning on each other as we try to navigate the health care system and the many medical afflictions that coil around my once-independent father like his oxygen cord.

While I appreciated every precious part of my life, it wasn’t enough.

Like the sad movies my daughter enjoys watching, I had to go through more bitter to find any sweet. Our little black cat, who for 10 years always made our lives a little more interesting, became ill. And no matter what we did, it wasn’t enough.

She died on Nov. 30.

But I insisted we drag out the Christmas decorations, fit buying a Christmas gift in here and there between doctor and hospital visits for my father, and accept a few holiday invitations from people we care about.

Still, my heart was so heavy and our home felt empty.

My husband decided a radical step was necessary. The path to the pet store was paved with silence and, on my part, tears.

We ended up being adopted by a tiny silver tabby that we named Charlie.

This purr machine can’t bring world peace, but he does bring me some much needed peace.

For a few minutes, we can laugh as he chases a toy mouse and enthusiastically leaps in the air. I wonder at his innocence and how expressive his slim tail can be.

Can anyone stay stressed with four pounds of kitten stretched out along their lap?

I know Charlie can’t make all my nightmares go away, but every day for a little while I can just surrender to the pure joy he feels when a stroke of his soft, stripped fur gets that purr machine going.

At that moment, it is enough.

Donna Sybert is the news editor of the Butler Eagle.