Creature-filled books and cats reigned in my childhood bedroom. I dreamed of Aslan, recuperated from colds with Tigger, and earnestly analyzed Charlotte’s Web. Our family’s felines kept me company during countless “time outs,” as did the loquacious birds outside my window. In many ways, these influential animals—both real and mythic—supported me when the people in my house fell short. This love for all things furry and feathered eventually ferreted me into service as an animal chaplain. I channeled Hermione-Grainger-meets-St.-Francis-of-Assisi with complete abandon. Our house overflowed with illuminating books on diverse topics—from ahimsa to zoology, from animal sentience to Zoroastrian dog funerals—as I learned how to care for the more-than-human world. Fascinating stories of remarkable animals warmed my heart while heavy academic texts confirmed why their lives should be valued. Soon, perplexing my human neighbors, I began meditating with squirrels and imploring birds to join me in call-and-response kirtan. Admittedly, I do not have a church for critters (yet …), but …