As if the universe read my last post and saw fit to smack down my self-sabotage with some REAL sabotage, three days before I was supposed to pick up little kitten “Bounty” from the foster home, I tested positive for COVID.

So that’s enough of THAT bullshit (the self-sabotage, I mean, but also the COVID). I tested positive on Saturday the 8th. I was supposed to pick her up on Tuesday the 11th. Today is Thursday the 13th, and I tested negative for the first time this afternoon. I will check again tomorrow morning to make sure, but I think that finally, finally, my girl is coming home to me tomorrow evening. Every last one of my fingers and toes are crossed.

SO. Here’s what I’ve got (rubs hands together gleefully). I’ve got (sung to the tune of “My Favorite Things” from The Sound of Music):

Dry food and wet food and Churu aplenty

Corn litter, cat box, and treats for her denties

Assorted toys all attached to some strings

These will be all of her favorite things…

And so on and so forth. I am SO EXCITED. I am going to scream it in your mythical ear, Ghost: I can’t wait for this girl and I am hopeful for our future!!! I have never had a Torbie!!! I HOPE SHE LIKES ME!!!

I hope she likes Eden. I hope this little girl gives Eden a longer lease on life. I hope Eden doesn’t react to her like I’ve only seen Eden react once to a human two-year-old, which was to lose her goddamned mind like I’d never seen before and threaten to tear a tiny human limb from limb.

It was rough. I think we’re all still recovering from that experience, except the two-year-old, who was blissfully oblivious the entire time. This was about 6 years ago.

In any case, I think Eden is at a point in her life where she (a) is resigned to most major changes and takes comfort in the predictability of my feeding schedule and general routines, and (b) has been around cats for all 14 of her years on this planet, and will probably not be fazed. I think she will be curious, yes. I think she will be attentive, yes. I do not think she will be aggressive at all.

I did what I said I would do in my last post. I put Winter’s ashes and her things away in the closet today. I hadn’t touched them in almost a year, they’ve been on my bookshelf in the sun since her ashes came home. I had a very emotional few moments as I handled her little bed, seeing her fur in it still and remembering how it felt to pet that sweet girl. I cried, and then I put it away.

I think my emotions are heightened today in general. This new little girl has me all in a tizzy. I can’t focus on work, which is why I’m writing this missive instead. I want to hang on to this feeling. For the first time in a long time, I actively want my home to be a happy place. I want this new little girl to come home to the world’s most loving tiny family, with the world’s best extended family. I want her to feel loved in my tiny girl gang.

To that end, I think I’m beginning to internalize the idea of being kind to myself. Everything is not the end of the world. I am not failing all over the place. Nothing my parents did or said to me is my fault. I’m not responsible for what others feel, or their problems, or whether or not they like me. I’m only responsible for me. I want me to be healthy and happy, and thriving all over the place. I want me to be allowed to make mistakes without those mistakes becoming part of my narrative about myself. I want to get better and feel safe in my own company.

No matter how many things are wrong, there is nothing wrong with me. No matter what others say about me, or how they perceive me, there is nothing wrong with me. I have turned myself into a good person over the last 53 years. There is nothing wrong with me. I care about people, and the world in general, but the state of those is also not a reflection on me. I have no control over the actions and words of others, only my reaction to them. There is nothing wrong with me. I’m allowed to be on this planet and breathe and take up my little space in my little corner. There is nothing wrong with me. My age doesn’t matter, my weight doesn’t matter, my bank account balance doesn’t matter. There is nothing wrong with me.

That’s incredibly freeing. It means I don’t have to run anymore, or try to constantly escape my own company. It means I can treat myself gently and allow myself to explore things I love. This isn’t easy. It’s not like I can just flip the script on 53 years of internal dialogue, but it’s definitely a start. “There is nothing wrong with me” is going to become my mantra, along with “Other people don’t know what is best for me.”

I deserve to have this little cat in my life. I deserve to have Eden in my life. I deserve to have everyone who cares about me in my life. I can just exist, there is nothing to prove and no one to impress. The people who love me already love me, and they do so in spite of my flaws, or perhaps, in part, because of them. How has it taken me so long to finally find this path? It’s all overgrown and weedy and dense, but “there is nothing wrong with me” will hack through the undergrowth to find a way forward.

Maybe sometimes all it takes is a 2-lb kitten to shift your whole world view.