My beloved spirit animal, Jack, talked a lot. His name was “screamer” when I adopted him as a tiny kitten when I lived in the college dormitories. If you see a psychiatrist every Monday, they will totally write you a letter for an “emotional support animal” and those can live with you anywhere — even college dorms. Good times.

I like to think that, since he took after me in a lot of ways and is a piece of me — he was cussing up a storm during our many frequent conversations.

Yes, that’s past tense. He passed away in 2022. I had him for 17 years. He was with me through it all. He’s tattooed on my arm now, so he’s always with me.

He was a cuddle bug, velcro cat and I miss him so much. His love was endless. My faithful companion. We shall meet again.

Scorched Earth, Jack. You and me.

Louie was adopted in 2023 from the cat lounge. He catfished me. I was there to visit another cat who I’d been matched with. But this fucker kept following me around and getting in my lap and falling asleep. This was all a lie. Louie only wants snuggles and pets on his terms. He wants to be in the same room (unless I’m going to bed, in which case it’s “night, bitch!”) but no touching. Vary rarely he will be in the mood to be a teddy bear and these moments are PRECIOUS.

Louie also seems to be a stoner cat. Like a surfer that would live in a van on the beach in Hawaii. He has never met a stranger. He wants to show you his belly and he wants you to pet it. He likes strangers better than us. Go ahead, you can pick him up. Just hold him like a baby. Seriously, he doesn’t like to be held like a cat — BABY. Belly up.

Trip to the vet? No problem. We getting in the carrier now? Awesome. Louie doesn’t give a FUCK and we can all only aspire to this level of enlightment.

Also, he feels like a Pantene commercial.