I woke up this morning to the unmistakable sound of protest: meow meow meow. Translation: the kitty’s food bowl was empty and this was an emergency of the highest order. So I did what any responsible human servant would do. I fed her, gently placed her in her carrying case, and brought her downstairs to socialize with Mom and my brother. A proper introduction, a little family time, and then, at her request, I cleaned her litter box. Royal treatment.
That’s when I noticed something unsettling.
She had manipulated the entry flap on her cage. Not just fiddled with it, but deliberately flipped it so it would swing inward instead of outward, making it much harder to trap her inside. This wasn’t random kitten chaos. This was strategy.
She is no dummy.
I suddenly felt like Charlie Gordon, losing a maze race to a mouse in Flowers for Algernon. Humbling. Deeply humbling. I got this… or at least I thought I did.
But here’s the catch.
This little creature relies on me. And she loves me. She plays with me, purrs on me, lets me pet her, and right now that matters more than just about anything. She pulls my attention completely away from cigarettes. When I’m with her, cravings don’t get a seat at the table.
Sure, I had a couple of cravings today. They still show up, like uninvited guests who don’t know when the party’s over. But my new little friend outranks them all. She needs me. And in a strange, quiet way, I need her too.
Outsmarted or not, I’ve got this.
by Dan and Bonkers
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