Whiskey moves like she’s auditioning for an invisible kung fu epic. One second she’s a puddle of fur. The next, she’s a blur. She circles. She swoons. She vanishes behind furniture and reappears mid-air with a tiny “hi-yah,” landing a soft nibble on my arm like a feathered punchline.
If Bruce Lee ever needed a stunt double with whiskers, I know a girl.
Some days I wonder how much more of this acrobatic affection I can take. My forearms look like they’ve been sparring with a cloud that learned self-defense. But then she pauses. Those big eyes flip the script. The fierce little tiger becomes a soft, dependent kitten again, all warmth and trust, curled up like nothing in the world could possibly go wrong as long as I’m here.
And in that moment, I remember why this journal isn’t just about not smoking. It’s about choosing patience over impulse. Presence over escape. Laughing when life nibbles instead of lighting up when it scratches.
So today’s victory looks like this: no cigarettes, a few kitten ambushes, and a reminder that even the wildest tigers sometimes just want to curl up in your lap.
I got this. 🐯🐾
by Dan and Bonkers
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