“You gotta play in case it’s for you!” my grandma would say. It used to make her crazy that I didn’t play the lottery. I’m destined to be a worker not a winner; so, if I’m meant to play, I need a sign. Or signs. Like at a recent pet sitting fiasco when I thought for sure the universe—or my grandma—was clearly trying to tell me something. First, there was a dead mouse in the ducks’ water bowl. Yuck! Next, the feral neighborhood peacock somehow found his way inside the house. I spotted him elegantly descending the staircase and had to chase him out. Then, there was a dark lump on the living room carpet, perhaps a deposit from the peacock? It turned out to be a “gift” from the cat—poor baby bird. When I relayed my adventures in pet sitting to my mom, she mentioned she had a list of numbers that represent animals. That was as clear a sign as I’d ever get from grandma, so I played the lottery. Like I said, I’m destined to be a worker. And all those signs—they were telling me to stop pet sitting!