Today felt like one of those days where the universe dumps a whole bingo card of errands on the kitchen table and says, “Good luck.” It was a busy one for mom. Whiskey had a vet appointment. The cleaning lady was scheduled. I had a doctor’s appointment. Mom also wanted to get her hair done, though that plan eventually got sacrificed to the gods of time and exhaustion.
The day began, as many do now, with a kitten tongue in my ear and a furry body bouncing around the bed like a caffeinated pinball. I eventually caught Whiskey, gently but firmly, and placed her into her carrying case. Off to the vet she went, probably plotting her revenge the entire ride.
The cleaning lady had to head home early, so we dropped her off on the way to the clinic. I did my part to contribute by buying her a raspberry iced tea. I consider that community service.
At the clinic, the doctor delivered some much-needed good news. My chest X-ray and CT scan both came back negative. No cancer. No mysterious lurking disease. Considering how hard it’s been for me to breathe at times, I was bracing myself for a diagnosis like COPD or emphysema. Thankfully, it’s neither.
The real culprits turned out to be stress and conditioning. Quitting smoking. A looming court case. A cancer scare. And, perhaps most humbling of all, being completely out of shape. The verdict: no more cancer, but I do need to start treating my lungs like they belong to someone who wants to keep using them.
Back at the veterinarian’s office, Whiskey had her own plot twist. She was supposed to be spayed, but they found some discharge that could interfere with anesthesia. The good news is that the discharge was from her nose, not anywhere more… alarming. So we can all rest easy knowing Whiskey Kitty does not have a venereal disease. A sentence I never expected to be relieved about thinking.
I did mention to the vet that when cravings hit, I focus on the kitten instead. Feed her. Play with her. Make sure she’s safe. It pulls my attention away from cigarettes and back into the present moment. He seemed genuinely impressed, which felt like a small gold star on my invisible behavior chart.
Soon enough, we were all back home. Whiskey curled up. Herbie, mom’s cat, doing his usual love-bug routine. Herbie the love bug. Whiskey the love bug. Apparently, this is a household that raises love bugs now.
And in a house full of love bugs, we don’t smoke.
Not me.
Not mom.
Not Herbie.
Not Whiskey.
All nonsmoking. All breathing. All here.
We got this. 🐾🚭
by Dan and Bonkers
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