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There’s a new rule in my art therapy strategy: if cigarettes took my time and money, art gets both back. Every minute I would have spent smoking now belongs to the studio. Every dollar that once went up in smoke now goes into paint, paper, ink, and the growing mountain of supplies that promises possibility instead of regret. Even more money goes into advertising, arranging shows and events, and other forms of promotion.  To make it real, I committed big. Six major events this year to sell my work. Six stages. Six deadlines. Six reasons to keep moving forward instead...

While Whiskey Kitty sleeps through most of the day like a tiny, tuxedoed philosopher conserving her energy, nighttime is a different story. That’s when she clocks in for her evening shift. For about an hour before bed, she expects full entertainment services from her human. Once we head upstairs, the games begin. She wedges herself between the mattress and the wall for a dramatic game of peekaboo, then launches surprise attacks from across the room like a four-pound jungle predator. She interrupts my computer work by walking directly across the keyboard, because apparently every program benefits from random cat input....

Most days I wake up a little before noon, feed Whiskey, and open the door so she can make her grand entrance downstairs to inspect her kingdom. I sometimes wonder if feeding her later in the day is throwing off her sleep schedule because she often seems tired during daylight hours. Then again, she’s a cat. If there were a PhD in napping, she’d be teaching it. I know when she’s hungry because I hear her calling from the other room. Interestingly, she doesn’t come into my room and meow for breakfast. No, Whiskey prefers a more direct communication style....

Today was a big adventure in Whiskey Kitty’s world. Instead of carrying her downstairs like a royal passenger, we opened the door and let her make the journey on her own. Freedom with supervision, the feline version of a passport. I still worry about the back door and the great unknown beyond it, so we kept that sealed tight. No unauthorized expeditions today. She padded down cautiously, nose first, inspecting the kitchen and dining room like a tiny health inspector looking for crumbs, lost treasures, or evidence of snack activity. New territory, new smells, new discoveries. After a thorough investigation,...

Whiskey has been very mellow the last couple of days. Yes, there’s been a little pouncing and the occasional ambush bite, but mostly she rests beside me like a small, warm guardian of calm. Instead of launching surprise attacks at dawn, she wakes me with soft fur and quiet presence. It’s a much gentler way to start the day, and honestly, it sets the tone for everything that follows. There’s something else I’ve discovered about tuxedo kittens. They’re magical. The black-and-white shading isn’t just cute, it’s tactical. Whiskey can disappear into shadows, behind furniture, into folds of fabric, and then...