I am also cancer free as of the writing of this single statement.

and one expletive: thank fuck.

Ya’ll. After a year of grief-fueled burnout I have a job that pays milkbones, but is a gentle balm on my soul: bathing dogs.

Miescha.

That is Bear.

(The cat formerly known as Bacon, Boo, and Brahms.)

Sagan.

(Also known as Cat Cena.)

Being able to step away from a hobby, chill the fuck out, and realize what you liked about it to start with. Being able to step back in after a couple months has been a good thing –

New job. New job. New job.

(Sorry Plath.)

I think he’s swell.

I saw Bear the magnificent beast you see pictured in a Suggested for You Local Cat Rescue Group. He was all black at that time. Had gotten over a case of mange. Is FIV+. Has a wonky eye and a snaggletooth and after I met him I learned he snore purrs like an old man eating chili and that’s how I knew he was mine.

Sagan, I adopted for my partner when I knew our dog Bell was old enough to tolerate a cat. And he was a dog person until he also discovered he’s also totally a cat person when I taught the boys how to sit on command and fetch whenever they want to play. After Bellhound, we now have his and theirs cats and it’s wonderful.

For Monday as needed.

Six seasons and a movie.

Samwise, my new bud. He’s two going on terror.

@helvetica

that’s stellar dog content, thank you.

I would like to offer a image of my cypurr-punk cats.

edit: now with more puns.

Kitten moment of zen:

So. At my job – I hit my mental health oh they can only be a workhorse for so long limit. However, as I’m also a patient goblin, I also play one mean long-game that appears to be playing out in my favor. Otherwise, I was going to quit by singing during a zoom call. I really and truly was. I’ve made myself desperately needed by my job in a way that will allow me to keep my benefits but take time to breathe and it feels good.

Edit: OR - or I can coddle an interview and get a whole new job.

when I finished reading this thread: