My Bella

My husband, boyfriend at the time, and I were finally living together, alone! My god awful roommate had finally decided to move out after a very uncomfortable standoff to see who had to leave… but that’s another story for a different day.

My sister and brother in law had just moved into a gargantuan house in the middle of the most “Stepford Wives” neighborhood vibe I had ever experienced. Then we get the call, “Bella isn’t quite adapting, she’s hiding in the house… We are going to have to find someone to take her. Would you all be willing?” So with our new found freedom and love of all fur monsters we took in the most beautiful and standoffish, 12-year-old cat.

Her actual breeder name is Queen Isabella of something blah blah shire? It’s like somehow she knew she was born a queen. It’s now four years later and she still struts around here like she’s on a never ending runway show.

Two months ago she had peed in the corner of the room and not her litter box, and she never does this. I checked and she was urinating blood. Flash forward to now, about $1200 and about five vet visits later, and the best they can figure is that her bitty immune system can’t seem to fight a respiratory infection.

“Weeks or months….” Words I was not prepared to hear. I thought I was prepared, I knew she wasn’t recovering the way she should… but weeks or months…????!

She will be 16 this July and I never realized how much I could love this little princess in a few short years. I never knew I could shed this many tears over a cat who wouldn’t even sit in my lap. We knew what we were getting into taking in an elderly animal, or so we thought we did, but I’ve never felt less prepared for what is coming. She is sitting under the chair next to me as I type this, tears rolling down my cheeks. But she is strong, she’s not in pain, and just seems like she has a little cold?¬†We’re still doing everything we can, feeding her as much as possible, eye drops three times a day and weekly vet visits.

I’m not even sure that I had a point to writing about this, except to grieve a little and give my chance to cry about it by myself. We’re both doing our best to be positive, but he is better at it than I am. I love you my little Queen Bella.



First blog post

24 days… In just a short 24 days I will be THIRTY. I’m married to the love of my life, a first time suburban homeowner, we both have good jobs, and I couldn’t be a prouder pet mom. To be honest, I still have no idea how we got here. “It takes a village” may be an understatement…

I was a habitual liar and in to everything as a kid, a worrisome teen to say the least, and in drug and alcohol treatment before my 21st birthday. I hear people talk about not living up to the expectations of their younger selves, but, I don’t think I have thought about it since I was a child. So here I am, going into my thirties with no expectations, let alone a clue about what I am supposed to be doing with my life now.

I struggle with a bit of depression and whole lot of anxiety, and maybe I’m just prefacing what I’m about to type to make myself feel better, but I can’t seem to finish anything! I have been on more “semesters off” than not for school and am only a sophomore, with no desire to finish aside from wanting to complete literally anything. I’ve been to hair school and quit that too, I’m only a semi-ok painter despite that being the only hobby you might be able to say I’ve stuck with. I’m naturally good at a lot of things but not great anything.

My husband on the other hand, is talented at everything and is obsessed with video games. So, I don’t say all of this for sympathy, (because let’s be honest, I have it pretty good) but to explain to you why I have decided to start a blog instead of staring at the back of his head while he yells at more “idiots who don’t know how to play the game!”

I have always required a creative outlet in my life and this is one I think I might be able to stick with. Hopefully along the journey I might be able to figure this whole quarter life crisis out too, and hey, I just might be alright at this. My brother is a writer by profession, so here’s hoping it’s in the genes!’