’twas a cat!

Hello, world!

This is my first blog post on my new website! I thought it would be appropriate to introduce you to my writing buddy, Smokey. 🙂

He is a 6-year-old American shorthair tabby who serves as my ESA (Emotional Support Animal). Smokey came into my life about 3 years ago when I was at a low point and desperately needed some extra support. After consulting with my doctor, we decided that an ESA would be beneficial. 

So after a few more steps, I ended up at the shelter to meet a different cat I’d seen online. It turns out that cat was already adopted, but I agreed to see the others (of course!).

The moment I stepped into the cat room, I was greeted by a wall of plexiglass cubicles, filled with cats in need of homes. One cat in particular locked eyes with me. He meowed and desperately rubbed up against the glass, begging for cuddles. I requested to meet with him immediately.

In the meeting room, I sat down with him on the floor. I’d been going through probably one of the worst times of my life and I was desperate for a friend, even if that friend had fur. But I was also terrified of somehow making a mistake. So I pet Smokey, and cried, telling him that if he would come home with me, I would be the best cat mom I knew how, and take care of him the rest of his life. When he let me pick him up and cuddle him to my chest, I knew he was the cat for me. (It all sounds a bit dramatic, but it really was a monumental moment.)

Smokey (I kept the name he came with at the shelter) meowed all the way home. I had to explain to the McDonald’s drive thru worker that no, I did not have a dying cat in my car, he was just on his way to his new, loving home and didn’t appreciate the mode of transportation (or my singing). He still hates his carrier. And my singing.

When we got home, I waited excitedly for my husband to get off work. He’d been reluctant about the idea of getting a cat, but it’s better to ask forgiveness than permission, amiright? The moment he opened the door, I held out my new cat and said with a big smile, “MEET YOUR NEW CAT SON!” Matt simple sighed and got over it. (They’re best buds now).

Then the kids came home from school. I was most excited to show them, because I knew they’d freak out. And do you want to know what happened next? The cat. went. missing. Could not find him ANYWHERE. We tore through the house, looked under furniture, searched outside. I was convinced that I was a terrible cat mom who had just failed in her promise to take good care of her new furbaby. I was crying. The kids were crying. Eventually, Smokey crawled out of whatever hole he’d been hiding in and the day was saved.

Today, Smokey (aka: Smokey Marie Carter. Yes, he’s a boy. Yes, his middle name is Marie. I have no clue why.) is a very spoiled, healthy kitty who prefers to sit on his perch by the back door window and dream up of ways to capture the squirrels that taunt him. He is obsessed with running out the front door to chew on the grass in our front yard like a little cow. Even though he can be a booger now and then, I’d be lost without him. 

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