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This morning began with a familiar routine and a small dose of adventure. Whiskey Kitty crawled into my bed, soft and warm, her way of saying good morning without words. I carried her downstairs where Mom and I gave her post-surgery medicine. She handled it like a little warrior, patient and trusting with a smaller bit of resistence. But the real action came afterward. When I brought her back upstairs and opened the door to feed her, she slipped past me like a furry bar of soap. Down the stairs she flew, across the dining room, and straight behind the...

This morning started with a small gap in the routine. Mom forgot Whiskey Kitty’s medicine, and I took that as permission to stay under the covers a little longer. No alarms, no rushing, just a quiet morning stretch. Whiskey, as always, handled it better than any of us. She’s a real trooper, eating well, using her litter box, staying friendly, playful, and present like nothing in the world could shake her spirit. We gave her medicine closer to noon, and she carried on like a tiny furry professional. I wish I could say I showed the same discipline right away....

The day started early at 7:00 a.m., the kind of early that feels less like morning and more like a negotiation with reality. Mom and I teamed up to give Whiskey Kitty her medicine. She did not agree to this plan. There was twisting, squirming, a protest worthy of a tiny courtroom drama, and a small spill on the table mat for good measure. Nothing like a determined cat to remind you that control is always an illusion. From there, it was off to my own medical adventure. The urologist visit was one of those humbling reminders that the human...

This morning came early. Whiskey Kitty and I began the day with a mission: carrier, car, and courage. The vet had postponed her procedure before because of congestion that could interfere with anesthesia, but today she got the green light. Operation: Spay and Secure. She came home with two upgrades. One surgical, one technological. Along with the spay, they implanted a microchip so she can be tracked if she ever gets lost. I’m still not sure how I feel about my cat getting computerized, but if the choice is between privacy and coyotes, I’m voting for satellites. I worry about...

It’s Super Bowl Sunday, and the day began the way the best mornings do, with Whiskey Kitty delivering her usual pre-game ritual of love, purrs, and gentle reminders that I am, in fact, her human. Unfortunately, my own performance didn’t hold up for long. Before halftime even existed in my day, I was off to the smoke shop for another pack of cigarettes. And honestly, it felt awful. There’s no poetry in it, no romantic rebellion, no artistic mystique. Just the heavy feeling of being beaten by something small, expensive, and completely unnecessary. That’s when I had to say it...