After two weeks of logistics, schoolwork, errands, cat management, dentist appointments, groceries, firefly research planning, and one deeply unhelpful counterfeit-money joke at the bank, I would simply like credit for not having a meltdown. A ribbon would be acceptable. A cookie would also work.

My ninety-year-old grandmother broke her back trimming bushes and didn't find out for a month. That's just the warm-up. This one's about toughness, love, and a woman who doesn't go down easy — even when everyone around her was starting to worry she might.

"Comfortable Mystery" Kevin MacLeod (incompetech.com)
Licensed under Creative Commons: By Attribution 4.0 License
http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/

Edgar has entered his full criminal toddler phase. No table is safe, no surface is sacred, and no amount of drool can apparently stop him from staring at me like I’m the greatest thing that has ever happened to him. Unfortunately, this is exactly how he keeps getting away with everything.

Mr. Darcy is seventeen, which means he has been in charge of my life for a little over sixteen years.

In this episode, I talk about the sweet, regal, deeply spoiled old man who has been with me through illness, pregnancy, chaos, lap appointments, and more emotional moments than I can count. His health has gotten more complicated lately, and we’re trying to keep him comfortable for as long as we can.

So yes, he is getting homecooked meals now.

I have officially become that cat mom.

And I am grateful for every day I still get with him.

Edgar continues his campaign against this household with a series of increasingly unhinged offenses, including tribute offerings, targeted attacks on inanimate objects, and an incident involving a lizard that nearly escalated.

He is a menace to society.

And then he climbs into my lap, goes completely limp, drools everywhere, and acts like I am the greatest thing that has ever happened to him.

It’s very hard to enforce rules under these conditions.

We came home from the alleged vacation braced for disaster.

There wasn’t one.

No one had died. Nothing had exploded. The pet sitter survived. Boof lost her mind, Mr. Darcy remained professionally unimpressed, and Edgar… apparently took comfort in the dog.

Then Mama sat down.

What followed was purring, drooling, emotional damages, one contested blanket, and a fragile peace treaty between two cats who both believed my lap belonged to them.

Edgar missed me.

He would never admit it out loud, obviously.

But that chocolate criminal could not hide it.

I spent most of the day worried about Mr. Darcy.

And then Edgar chose violence.

What followed included an aerial attack on the dog, a covert operation inside the couch, and a betrayal I was not emotionally prepared for.

Somewhere in the middle of all that, I realized we are no longer a household.

We are a situation.

Vacation promised rest. Instead, I got waves, sand, logistics, and the haunting realization that “relaxing family trip” is mostly just regular life in a swimsuit.

In this episode: daylight savings, physical decline, pet mutiny, senior-cat breakfast theft, kitten tyranny, pollen, pain, and one very sparkly recital tutu that Edgar would absolutely destroy if given the chance. I am tired, the animals are confused, and the government remains suspiciously unbothered by the suffering it has caused.

My friend agreed to pet-sit while we’re on vacation. Very kind. Very generous. Deeply underinformed.

What should have been a quick walkthrough turned into an hour-and-a-half briefing on inmate transfers, restricted zones, medication resistance, protective custody, yard privileges, toilet paper removal, and Edgar’s known priors.

I did not mean to train an apprentice warden.

But here we are.