I woke up today to Whiskey Kitty performing what can only be described as a full-contact affection routine. Slobber on my ear. Snuggle attack. Then a sneeze. Then a cough. Direct hit to my face.
Normally, that might qualify as grounds for a tiny feline lecture. But she’s too young to know better, and honestly, if you’re going to be germ-bombed by anyone, it might as well be by a kitten who looks like innocence with whiskers.
The day started sweet, but my mind wasn’t exactly floating on clouds. I’ve got a court case hanging over me like a storm that can’t decide whether to rain or move on. I could spend time in jail. That’s heavy. But this journal is about staying upright, not spiraling downward, so I’ll keep it simple. The prosecution wants to drop the case, but the system doesn’t move on human logic. It moves on paperwork logic. So now it’s in the hands of God, fate, and whatever cosmic filing cabinet controls these things.
After that mental workout, I took a healthy walk to 7-Eleven. Emphasis on the word walk. Less emphasis on what I bought. Tea and cold mocha drinks are not exactly what your doctor orders when they say “hydrate responsibly,” but we’re calling it a spiritual compromise.
Then came the phone drama. I checked my messages and found a female friend chewing me out for not replying fast enough. Here’s the thing. My phone is old. Like “might be powered by steam” old. Messages don’t always show up on time. I also invited her more than once to spend Christmas with me and Mom, and she declined. Fair enough. That’s girlfriend privilege territory, I get it. But instant responses to every text, call, and voicemail? That’s also a privilege. Communication, like respect, works best when it doesn’t run on a stopwatch.
Next stop, the vet. Mom’s cat Herbie went in for kidney tests, and Whiskey Kitty got her vaccination. Next week she’ll be spayed. Our little girl is officially growing up. One minute she’s sneezing in my face, the next she’s on a medical schedule like a tiny CEO.
While we were there, I told everyone at the pet hospital how Whiskey is helping me quit smoking. I said, “Read the blog.” Because this isn’t just about cigarettes. It’s about replacing one habit with a better story. And right now, my better story wears fur, sneezes like a cartoon character, and thinks my ear is a chew toy.
Through court worries, tech frustrations, coffee-flavored mistakes, and vet visits, I stayed smoke-free.
That’s the headline.
Everything else is just the scenery.
I got this.
by Dan and Bonkers
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