Hello Darling Ones,

Today is December 6th. I’m exactly 51.5 years old and it’s been nine months since the shitty, shitty stroke.

Nothing is new. My vision is still garbage. My brain still thinks my right side weighs a ton and is convinced every second of every day that I’m about to fall. I teeter on the brink of financial ruin.

I’m working to accept my limitations and celebrate all the things I can do. Lexapro helps with the money anxiety.

You may be surprised that the stroke is not what is slowly destroying my life.

It’s Fergus & Mortimer. Those adorable little jerks are trying to ruin everything I love and also my socks.

Getting two kittens while recovering from a stroke was my worst, best idea of all time.

Kittens are endlessly infuriating and fascinating.

Last night before bed, I sat for five minutes watching Mortimer try to sneak up on Fergus who was trying to hunt Wendell, who was sniffing something by the front door.

Dual, tiny, wiggly kitten butts nearly killed me.

It’s only fair. Yesterday while talking with the Tea Ladies, I told them if the cats ruined my Monstera (named Cub) I would ruin them.

The kittens are doing their best to kill off the Sadness Garden. Last weekend they knocked Joanie, a snake plant, off the half-wall between the dining room and kitchen. They keep digging around in Trevour, the lemon tree, and treating to tip over Janis, a pine tree.

Though, Janis seems to be ailing for her own personal reasons.

They love garbage and playing with it. When I shout “Los gatitos, ven aqui!” the come running. If Fergus wakes from a nap and can’t find me she walks around the house meowing until she finds me. Mortimer is Wendell’s kitten and I’m only a little bitter about being second choice.

This morning I sat on my wheeled kitchen stool and chased them while they played hockey with an ice cube that got away from me.

It’s so nice to have something new and cute and not at all depressing slowly destroying my life.

Your favorite spinster cat lady,
Jodi