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This afternoon I woke up late. Really late. About 1:30 pm. I was shocked I had slept that long. The room had that strange quiet feeling you get when the day has already started without you. Even stranger was Whiskey Kitty. She looked completely worn out, stretched across the corner like she had just finished an all-night shift at some underground cat nightclub. Her fur was a mess, her eyes were bugged out, and she was shaking a little like a hipster coming down from a rave party. I have no idea what kind of adventures she had while I...

Today started the usual way: Whiskey Kitty wrestling my hand like it was a small pink octopus trying to escape captivity. She hugs it, loses her grip, grabs again, and repeats the process with the seriousness of a tiny martial-arts master. For her, it’s training. For me, it’s the morning alarm clock. After that ritual, I ordered my tea and headed to an appointment with my psychiatrist. The visit was pretty straightforward. The doctor noted that I’m depressed. That wasn’t exactly breaking news. Depression has been hanging around lately like a houseguest who forgot the concept of leaving. He offered...

So it turns out Whiskey Kitty wasn’t sulking in that corner after all. She was simply parked in the sun like a tiny, furry solar panel, soaking up warmth where the light hit the floor. Cats have a very practical philosophy about life: if there’s a beam of sunlight, occupy it immediately. No drama, no overthinking, just pure sun-powered contentment. Unfortunately, humans are not quite that efficient. My main concern today isn’t Whiskey Kitty or where she chooses to nap. It’s the strange parade of nightmares marching through my sleep lately. They all seem to revolve around the same theme:...

This morning started with a quiet little drama unfolding in the corner of my room. When I woke up, Whiskey Kitty was curled up there in a tight little ball, looking sad and loveless. Normally she’s right in the action. Either climbing into the bed, licking my ear, clawing my neck like a tiny feline chiropractor, or demanding breakfast like a four-pound alarm clock with fur. But not today. Last night she didn’t try to get in the bed. She didn’t wake me up. No ear licking. No pawing. No morning breakfast protest. Just a silent cat in the corner....

The last couple of nights have been a little different around here. Normally Whiskey Kitty wakes me up by gently licking my ear, which is strange enough as alarm clocks go. Lately, however, she has upgraded her routine. Now she kneads and claws into my neck while I’m sleeping like a tiny furry baker working a stubborn piece of dough. Naturally, I try to move her paws away, but Whiskey interprets that as a complete rejection of her existence. In cat language, apparently, please don’t stab my neck with your claws translates to get out of my life forever. So...