I woke up this morning to Whiskey Kitty bouncing around the bed like a tiny trampoline with fur, delivering kisses, love, and that unmistakable kitten enthusiasm for the dawn. For a few minutes, life was pure purr and chaos. Then the joy dimmed as reality crept in. Legal problems have a way of doing that. I lay there thinking about what could happen if things don’t go right, and how fragile the next few weeks feel.
I made a decision not to spiral. I’ll wait until Tuesday and contact my public defender. No catastrophizing before breakfast. Instead, I fed Whiskey and cleaned her litter box, which is a grounding ritual whether you want it to be or not. Cats have a way of reminding you that life still needs tending, even when your thoughts are racing.
Later, Mom and I decided it was time for a haircut. I’ve got my next court appearance one week after Wednesday, and apparently first impressions include hairlines. I walked into the barber shop and announced to the room, “Hey guys, it’s me and Mom. I’ve got court next week, so make me look as innocent as you possibly can.”
They delivered. For $35, I walked out with what I can only describe as a terrific monk-looking haircut. Clean, simple, humble. If innocence had a hairstyle, this might be it.
I won’t sugarcoat it. The cravings to smoke today have been unbearable. Stress has a way of turning the volume knob all the way up. But desperate times call for desperate action, and my action today is refusal. No matter how bad the situation feels, I refuse to smoke. Not as a reward, not as relief, not as surrender.
Through all of it, Whiskey Kitty has my back. She doesn’t care about court dates or legal systems. She cares that I show up, feed her, clean her box, and let her crawl all over me like I’m her personal jungle gym. That kind of loyalty is hard to ignore.
So here I am, monk haircut and all, holding the line.
Day 102.
I got this.
by Dan and Bonkers
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