Progress, like a good cup of tea, is best served warm and steady. Today that progress came with a sleek little card reader from Best Buy—a small device with big ambitions. No more watching sales float away like balloons with no strings. At the upcoming LA Times Festival of Books, I’ll be ready. Booth paid. Hotel booked. Books stacked like a literary skyline waiting for readers to walk the streets.
Last weekend, I could practically hear $200 whisper, “We tried to stay… but you didn’t have the machine.” Not this time. This time, I’m plugged into possibility.
But while I was upgrading my business… Whiskey Kitty was upgrading her mystery.
Last night, she pulled a vanishing act Houdini would respect. No evening games. No “catch me if you can.” No pounce ambushes from behind furniture like a tiny ninja with whiskers. Instead, she retreated under the bed in her room, tucked away like a secret the house wasn’t ready to tell.
Naturally, my mind started writing its own horror screenplay.
Was it the nicotine gum I accidentally left out?
Did I play too rough?
Was I suddenly cast as the villain in her furry little world?
When a cat goes quiet, the imagination gets loud.
But here’s the twist ending… morning came, and Whiskey Kitty rebooted like nothing ever happened.
Right on schedule.
There she was.
The ear-lick alarm clock.
The hand-nibbling personal trainer.
The reigning champion of Pounce.
Back to full power, full personality, full Whiskey.
And that’s when it hits me… cats aren’t confusing. They’re just… operating on a different channel. 📡
A dog is a headline.
A cat is a poem written in invisible ink.
Their independence isn’t distance… it’s design. Cats regulate themselves. If something feels off, they withdraw. If something feels right, they return. No announcement. No explanation. Just behavior as communication.
Last night? Maybe she needed quiet.
This morning? She needed breakfast… and me.
That’s the deal with a cat. You don’t always get the “why.” You get the moment.
And maybe that’s not such a bad lesson.
Because while I’m out here planning booths, counting sales, fixing systems… Whiskey Kitty is reminding me that life isn’t always a straight line. Sometimes it’s under the bed one night… and sprinting across the house the next.
No explanation required.
She’s all mine. Not just in the sense of ownership, but in the sense of connection. A little creature who chose this house, this rhythm, this strange human who talks to her like she’s a roommate with opinions.
And I wouldn’t trade that for anything.
Card reader ready.
Books ready.
Life… ready enough.
Once again… I got this. 🐾
