This weekend I spent some time with my friend Vicki and her kids Jameela, Raya and Tarik—ages 11, 8 and 5. I was entertained by their antics and awed by their energy levels.

I heard about their Halloween costumes, favorite activities and witnessed their gymnastic abilities in a sea of simultaneous conversations and a whirlwind of cartwheels.

When the chitchat steered toward animals, I recognized a kindred spirit in Jameela. A natural born animal lover.

She shared stories with me about her cat and how she will lie in bed in cramped and uncomfortable positions so she won't disturb the cat sleeping next to her. Jameela's heart aches when she sees a homeless animal and she cries if she can't rescue it. She loves to touch, talk to and be with animals.

I completely understand. As I listened, memories of my own childhood danced among Jameela's stories.

I remember lying awake at night and keeping very still while Ben, my large black cat, searched for the perfect arrangement of my comforter to curl up on. If I found a homeless animal, I would bring it home (or at least try to)—hoping we would be able to keep it. On our family trips to Kmart—I ran to the pet isle so I could watch the fish and gerbils. And I cried when I would see an injured animal.

So many tender-hearted years ago—but my respect and adoration for animals haven't waned—unlike my ability to do cartwheels.

What Jameela, I and other animal people also feel is a bit of pain as we walk past a pet store and see a puppy in the window. We innately don't like the circus because we feel sorry for the elephants. A sign advertising a lost cat results in us keeping our eyes open for a free-roaming grey tabby.

It isn't simply that we want more animals—although we would have more if we could. We are born with an empathy and deep appreciation for animals. It is as natural as our eye color. Our understanding and experience with animals grows as we do—but our love for them was with us when we took our first breath and will be with us on our last.