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This morning started with a small gap in the routine. Mom forgot Whiskey Kitty’s medicine, and I took that as permission to stay under the covers a little longer. No alarms, no rushing, just a quiet morning stretch. Whiskey, as always, handled it better than any of us. She’s a real trooper, eating well, using her litter box, staying friendly, playful, and present like nothing in the world could shake her spirit. We gave her medicine closer to noon, and she carried on like a tiny furry professional. I wish I could say I showed the same discipline right away....

The day started early at 7:00 a.m., the kind of early that feels less like morning and more like a negotiation with reality. Mom and I teamed up to give Whiskey Kitty her medicine. She did not agree to this plan. There was twisting, squirming, a protest worthy of a tiny courtroom drama, and a small spill on the table mat for good measure. Nothing like a determined cat to remind you that control is always an illusion. From there, it was off to my own medical adventure. The urologist visit was one of those humbling reminders that the human...

This morning came early. Whiskey Kitty and I began the day with a mission: carrier, car, and courage. The vet had postponed her procedure before because of congestion that could interfere with anesthesia, but today she got the green light. Operation: Spay and Secure. She came home with two upgrades. One surgical, one technological. Along with the spay, they implanted a microchip so she can be tracked if she ever gets lost. I’m still not sure how I feel about my cat getting computerized, but if the choice is between privacy and coyotes, I’m voting for satellites. I worry about...

It’s Super Bowl Sunday, and the day began the way the best mornings do, with Whiskey Kitty delivering her usual pre-game ritual of love, purrs, and gentle reminders that I am, in fact, her human. Unfortunately, my own performance didn’t hold up for long. Before halftime even existed in my day, I was off to the smoke shop for another pack of cigarettes. And honestly, it felt awful. There’s no poetry in it, no romantic rebellion, no artistic mystique. Just the heavy feeling of being beaten by something small, expensive, and completely unnecessary. That’s when I had to say it...

This morning I woke up to the softest alarm clock in the world. Whiskey Kitty was resting against my cheek, delivering air kisses, purring like a tiny motor of devotion, licking my ear as if to say, Rise and serve your feline kingdom. She had plenty of food and water, but love, apparently, is a renewable resource and must be delivered hourly. Then Mom’s voice came up the stairwell like a human foghorn:“Don’t sleep in!” And just like that, the day officially began. Today was supposed to be another quit date. I lasted about fifteen minutes. Fifteen heroic, smoke-free minutes...