I’m not a Christian, but certain teachings of Jesus stick with me. One of them is Matthew 25:40, “Whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me.” It’s true we’re judged by how we treat the “least of these.” This includes our pets.

Pets have little practical purpose in a suburban community. Dogs may be useful for security, but we don’t need them to help us hunt. We don’t need cats to protect our granary from rats. Our pets have been bred and trained for generations to be completely dependent on us and give us little in return except love and companionship. So we bring them into our homes. We feed them, clean them, groom them, train them, vaccinate them, and love them in return. And when the time comes, we say goodbye to them.

Today, we had to say goodbye to another of our cats, Gretel. Like Oscar, she succumbed to age. The vet found a large and inoperable mass in her stomach, and we had to make the difficult decision to put her to sleep. We gave her one last night to spend with us. We kept her as comfortable as possible and gave her plenty of love and attention before we took her to the final visit at the vet.

I think about what I’d want my family to do for me when I eventually reach that point. I filled out an advanced directive that tells them I don’t want any extraordinary and expensive efforts to save me if there is no hope for recovery. I’d like to spend my final days at home with my loved ones and kept as comfortable as possible until the inevitable happens.

It reminds me of a saying shared by all the world’s religions and philosophies, “Do unto others as you would have done unto you.”

We think the “least of these” includes the poor, sick, children, service workers, disadvantaged groups, people with physical and developmental limitations, and those dependent on others. But we are all the “least of these” to someone else. And if we aren’t now, we will be. My mom became one of the “least of these” when she had a stroke. The people in the Southeast became “least of these” when hurricanes devastated their homes and businesses.

That’s why we’re called to be compassionate, to see no one as beneath us, and to treat all living things with kindness. Because when we are among the “least of these,” we would want compassion too.

Compassion should be central to everything we do. That includes voting. While we waited for Gretel’s final appointment, my wife and I filled out our ballots.

I’ve talked enough about my political preferences, but I want to say a few things to those on the fence or planning to vote the other way. A ballot is a mirror. It reflects your values, what’s important to you, and how you want the world to be. If you’re voting with the hope your candidate will give you more power and money, ask yourself if that same candidate would help you when you’re down. If you’re sick, will they make sure you can get the medical treatment you need? If a natural disaster affects your home, will they make sure you get the help you need, regardless of how your state voted in the last election? When you get old or have a disability, will they make sure you get support? How will they treat you when you become the “least of these”?

I know it sounds strange to talk about politics when our family had a terrible loss. But we live in a strange convergence of events with an election, natural disasters, and the threat of global war. Perhaps this is the “October Surprise” everyone has been expecting. The only way we can navigate through a situation like this is to hold fast to our values. “Whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me” and “Do unto others as you would have done unto you” are values worth holding.