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This morning started the way most good mornings do lately, with Whiskey Kitty launching a full-scale affection campaign. Air kisses, across-the-room pouncing, little nibbles and bites, all delivered with the urgency of someone who believes love should never be late. In her own chaotic way, she made sure I was awake in time for my therapy appointment. Alarm clocks could take notes. I also walked to the store for tea, which counts as exercise in my book. Forward motion is forward motion, even if it’s fueled by caffeine and habit. No smoking, no bargaining, no mental gymnastics. Just walking, breathing,...

This morning started gently. No ambush, no flying paws, no kitten parkour off my ribcage. Just air kisses and warmth from Whiskey Kitty. Soft fur. Slow blinks. The kind of calm that feels earned. It was one of those rare mornings where the world doesn’t demand anything immediately, it just sits beside you and breathes. Then reality clocked in. We headed to the psychiatrist for a routine visit, though nothing feels routine when paperwork meets the justice system. I need a letter from him confirming that I’m under psychiatric care. Simple on paper, complicated in tone. He hesitated. He was...

This morning I woke up to kisses and love. Not the romantic kind, the feline kind. That big black shadow of a kitten pressing her cheeks forward for an air kiss, like she was checking my pulse with affection. Whiskey and I were up late last night playing pounce and half-watching Saturday Night Live, which for her mostly meant attacking invisible objects and for me meant laughing at jokes I’ll only half remember. So the morning turned into a slow one. Resting and healing felt like the right assignment. I was supposed to hook up with a friend, but I...

Today didn’t officially begin until noon, which in kitten time is basically dusk. Whiskey and I were up late the night before, running through her greatest hits: pounce, peekaboo, and the Olympic-level event known as catch me if you can. We play a little rough, I’ll admit. I wiggle my hand, poke her belly, and suddenly there are four tiny limbs flailing in every direction like a malfunctioning windmill. Equal parts ridiculous and adorable. The kind of chaos that earns a late wake-up call. Eventually, the day called me to order, because it was the closing reception at the Whittier...

Today felt like one of those days where the universe dumps a whole bingo card of errands on the kitchen table and says, “Good luck.” It was a busy one for mom. Whiskey had a vet appointment. The cleaning lady was scheduled. I had a doctor’s appointment. Mom also wanted to get her hair done, though that plan eventually got sacrificed to the gods of time and exhaustion. The day began, as many do now, with a kitten tongue in my ear and a furry body bouncing around the bed like a caffeinated pinball. I eventually caught Whiskey, gently but...