This morning mom let something slip that I never fully considered. She said she’d gotten lonely rattling around this big house by herself. Her only real company was Herbie, her cat — and cats are fantastic, but they don’t exactly fill the silence. It made sense, though. Mom had a whole home to herself. I had nothing and nowhere. When I moved in, maybe I brought more than just my boxes. Maybe I brought some noise, some life, some chaos — the good kind.
Then today came a curveball. Mom went to the vet for routine errands…and came home talking about a kitten. A tuxedo kitten, all whiskers and mischief, sitting in a cage with a sign that simply said “Adopt me.”
Mom couldn’t hold back, and suddenly — without warning — I was getting a Christmas gift: a new kitten.
I’ll be honest. I was secretly hoping for a guitar, but guitars are pricey, and considering I might not be able to sing after this surgery coming up… maybe the universe knows better than I do. Or maybe the universe has a sense of humor.
We met her at the vet’s office. She had already been given all the shots and treatments, and they gave us the usual new-pet advice. She even came with a name already: Whiskey.
So we packed Whiskey into Herbie’s old carrier and brought her home.
At first, there was friendly competition — mom and I both wanted to be the first to pet her, and the longest. She was tiny, curious, and bold, hopping straight into an exploration of the living room like she owned it. But she was so tiny that she could slip into any tight space. The kind of space a stuck kitten could die in. And no one wants to wake up to a dead cat for Christmas. Even I’m not that dark.
So we talked it out and decided to let her settle into the room that will one day be my art studio. Right now it’s bare — just my drawing board and a bed. It’s quiet. Safe. Open ground. The perfect starter world for a new cat and a recovering artist.
Funny thing — the cravings were strong this morning. That gnawing itch to smoke was back, pulling at my habits.
Then Whiskey showed up.
And just like that… the cravings melted. Just holding her, watching her walk around, seeing her little face, her curiosity, her calm — it was a kind of therapy I didn’t expect. Maybe quitting smoking isn’t about brute force. Maybe it’s about distractions that feel like love.
You never know what it’s going to take.
We got this.
by Dan and Bonkers
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