Captain’s Log: Loss, Chaos, and the Eight-Cat Incident

Captain’s Log, Stardate 2601.230825

This log steps away from symptoms and procedures and into the environment I’m healing inside of. Originally recorded as an explanation for how my life ended up in full-time “cat chaos,” it’s being reissued now as part of a broader record—because the truth is, stress, grief, allergies, and healing don’t happen in separate compartments. They all share the same ship.

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I promised in my last post that I would share more stories about this crazy household we’ve built with our eight cats. So today, I’m going to touch more on that—because it has definitely carved another deep notch in my “bedpost,” if my body were one.

How the Hell Do You End Up with 8 Cats?

WELL, let me back up a bit and share the story of how my boyfriend and I met, because it actually goes way back. One of my goals is to finish this Rom-Com I’m writing about our story. I’ll only share a small part here so I don’t ruin it—because honestly, it really is comedic and hard to believe.

We’ve been together seriously for three years now, as of this New Year’s. But we originally met way back in 2009—the year I moved to Florida. He knew right away we’d end up together. I, however, didn’t. Looking back, if I had, we probably wouldn’t be where we are today.

Life is about the journey, not the end, right? And BOY, what a journey it has been.

Smokey Bones, AOL Messenger, and a Whole Lot of Drama

He helped me get one of my first jobs in Florida, a BBQ restaurant in Clearwater called Smokey Bones, where I ended up working for five years (even while getting my Insurance License). A temporary roommate of mine who also worked there put in a good word for me, but he was the one who told the manager to hire me on the spot. And yes—he had a girlfriend at the time.

I honestly don’t even remember what kicked off the chain of events that led us to start dating in 2010, but it definitely pissed off a few people at the restaurant. The funny thing? I eventually became best friends with all those girls who were mad at me. Not the first time either—back in high school, I became best friends with a girl after she messaged me on AOL Messenger about her boyfriend, who I used to date.

I guess I just like to be honest with people? Who knows. It’s wild to think how easygoing I used to be. Nowadays, I feel anti-social most of the time. Just going to events can almost trigger a panic attack. Pretty sure a lot of that stems from PTSD after being in a relationship with a Spanish alcoholic narcissist. Another mental hurdle I’m working on. But surprisingly, I’ve been doing better lately.

Things were easier when you were young and could just drink your way through social situations. Not so much when you’re an adult and sober. Still, if you don’t put yourself out there, you fail. That’s why I’ve been forcing myself to attend Agent Mixers. I even had lunch today with a woman I met at one—very business-like, but you never know.

If you haven’t noticed, my mind loves to trail off and drop little tidbits into my stories. Hopefully you find it entertaining and not confusing.

A Rockstar, Tattoos, and Insta-Karma

Back to 2010: I became close friends with the “pissed off” girls. Ryan broke up with his girlfriend, and we started dating. But it didn’t last long. I was 24, newly moved to Florida, and fresh out of the relationship that brought me down here in the first place—a drug addict who once proposed to me in a strip club parking lot with a gold birthstone ring that wasn’t even my birthstone. No, you can’t make this shit up.

Leaving that moron led me to Ryan. My ex, meanwhile, moved back to Michigan to stay with family and sell drugs, since he couldn’t hold down a real job. To be fair, he was talented, but breaking into the music industry is brutal. He actually did get close for a year or two when he was younger with a band whose name I can’t remember (though I can picture the music video perfectly). Later, he joined a band called Crossbreed. Not super famous, but they had a following and plenty of empty promises. For a while, he and I were back and forth between Michigan and Florida, trying to make it work.

So why did I stay with him? Because I saw how talented he was, and it crushed me to see him constantly let down. But here’s the kicker—during all that back-and-forth between Michigan and Florida, he goes and gets these stupid star tattoos on his face when I’m not around. Later, he adds huge neck tattoos, and by then I’m already in too deep to care. That should’ve been the moment I knew better. Didn’t I say in an earlier post how unfair it is that women will see red flags right in front of their face and still ignore them? Yeah, here’s another shining example.

Cats Enter the Picture

So how does this idiot tie into the cat story? He doesn’t, except he messed up my relationship with Ryan at the end of 2010. Still, when I first moved down in 2009, I already had two cats. They had to stay in Michigan for a few months—with two strippers I used to work with. (I had no choice, and it still haunts me a little.)

Eventually someone had to bring my cats and stuff down to Florida. Since I was working three jobs, it wasn’t me. Karma at its finest—my ex had to drive them down with his dad, and one cat, Gizmo, peed on him. Gizmo for the win!

Fast-forward to the winter of 2011: he reached out on Facebook (which was still pretty new back then). He was down in Florida to play in a Crossbreed reunion concert and needed a ride back to Michigan. By coincidence, I was already planning a road trip there with Ryan. The timing couldn’t have been worse. Things with Ryan were already getting rocky, and instead of taking him like I had planned, I ended up taking my idiot ex. That became my “out,” and I broke things off with Ryan before anything happened. Honest, yes, but still pretty messed up. And of course, insta-karma followed. On the way up, I got slapped with a Super Speeder ticket in Georgia, then pulled over again in Ohio just for “looking suspicious” (thanks to those stupid tattoos). That trip sucked and cost me a fortune.

And why am I writing a Rom-Com about all this? Because eventually, Ryan and I did take that Michigan road trip—this year, actually, with his son. Funny how life works. Oh, and by the way—I’m Good Luck Chuck. If I hadn’t broken up with Ryan back then, he wouldn’t have his son today. The rest of that story? You’ll have to wait for the Rom-Com.

Loss, Chaos, and the Cats That Changed Everything

So how does this all tie back to cats? Barely—but if I hadn’t been that young, dumb, drunk girl, would we be here with eight cats now? Probably not.

Ryan and I parted ways for 12 years. In that time, two different families (ours) each managed to collect four cats. I always swore I’d never have more than two. That must have been “Michigan me,” because in Florida, cats are EVERYWHERE.

The first real turning point was 2018, when Hodor showed up in my backyard during a rainstorm. He was the sweetest cat ever, so I adopted him. But he drove my older cats crazy.

Thinking back on it now, I sometimes wonder how different things would be if I had ignored him that day. Would we even have a cat problem right now? Would I have lost the best cat I ever owned—the one I had for literally half my life—if I hadn’t taken him in? For the longest time, I felt like he put her in an early grave because he was a kitten who never stopped wanting to play.

That all happened in 2018, and it broke me. I was devastated for a long time. I never had kids, so I don’t know what that loss feels like, but I can tell you that losing a pet who was with me for half my life felt unbearable. I got her at 16, and she passed when I was 32. She was only 16 herself, which felt too soon, since the cats I grew up with lived much longer.

I’m not sure if I still believe Hodor was to blame, though. My other senior cat died in 2023 at the exact same age, from pretty much the same thing. What are the odds? It makes no sense—especially when both were eating “the best of the best.” Growing up, our cats never had unnecessary vaccines forced on them, and I guarantee their food wasn’t filled with the kind of garbage it is today. Do you think I can afford to give eight cats premium food? Hell no—especially when I don’t even trust half of what’s on the shelves. Sometimes I wonder if it’s all poison anyway.

And as if that wasn’t enough, 2023 also brought another heartbreak. The same year I lost Gizmo, I lost my best friend in a terrible car accident in Hawaii. She hadn’t even lived there a full year yet and was alone with a boyfriend none of us really knew. I’ll never forget finding out—in the middle of the workday during Open Enrollment, the busiest time of the year for me. Another friend reached out after seeing the posts on Facebook because she knew I wouldn’t be looking and didn’t want me to find out that way. Ryan ended up digging around online to figure out exactly what happened, because I didn’t have the time to stop and process it myself—and honestly, I was too distraught to even try. She was one of those “pissed off girls” I became friends with back in 2009—one of the longest and closest friendships I’ve ever had. Honestly, the only thing that made that year “great” was Ryan. Everything else about it was awful, and it’s a year I’ll never forget.

Editor’s Note: I added one of my favorite photos of us here—it captures who she was and means too much not to include. 💕

So yeah—2023 was brutal. Between losing my best friend and Gizmo, I felt like I’d hit my breaking point. And even with just my five cats at the time, daily life already felt like a circus. Survival mode turned into its own kind of comedy show. I’ll never forget a meme I saw once: “I love my cat, but I just wish I could square up with him sometimes.” God, I feel that way way too often these days. And little did I know, 2024 would crank that chaos up even more once Ryan moved in with his four cats—bringing us to the full, glorious eight.

Back in 2019, I adopted Zim—a black longhaired kitten who reminded me so much of my late cat, Gir. Gizmo was old and over it, but Hodor raised Zim like his own. That brought me to three cats.

By 2021, I was in one of those “off years” with my messy not-quite-marriage. Based on Facebook posts—and straight up witnessing Ryan’s wife show up at my restaurant with another man—I put two and two together that they weren’t together anymore. Somehow, we both ended up living in Holiday, FL, at the exact same time. We had crossed paths a few times before, but we didn’t actually hang out until he was separated from his wife and I wasn’t with my ex anymore.

That year, we became friends again and hung out on and off. We were both going through the same kind of mess, so we connected. During that time, his cat had a litter of kittens—and one of them was missing a leg.

I couldn’t resist. The little guy also had a half mustache, and I had always wanted a special-needs cat. Captain Holt became my fourth cat (and yes, my favorite).

By 2022, thanks to that same messy not-quite-marriage, I rescued another cat—Chino. My not-really-ex-husband’s mother had bought a house right down the road from me, and the previous owners had left their cat behind. By the time I met her at Easter lunch that year, she had been living outside for months—skinny, missing patches of fur, and with a hole in her thigh the size of my thumb. Still, she walked right up, rolled over, and made air biscuits like she owned the place. I couldn’t leave her there. She was already spayed and unbelievably sweet, so she came home with me. Chino quickly became my number two favorite.

Taking her in brought me up to five cats on my own, and it was exhausting—especially while juggling everything else in my life. Looking back, I never would have guessed I’d end up caring for that many cats, let alone eight.

When Ryan finally moved in during 2024, he brought his four cats—Spot, Ghost, Little Foot, and Patches. Put us together, and BOOM—eight cats.

The Present (and Allergies)

Don’t get me wrong, I love every single one of them. But eight cats is a lot, and it’s stressful. Especially since I’m highly allergic to Ryan’s cats—they’re all from the same family line. I still can’t figure out why I’m fine with Captain Holt but react to the others.

It’s a double-edged sword. Without that litter, I wouldn’t have Captain Holt. But with it, we’re stuck with eight cats who create daily chaos and no shortage of mental anguish.

And honestly, that ties right back into my medical journey. The stress, the allergies, the constant cleaning—it all adds up and makes healing harder. But at the same time, the cats give me comfort and laughter on the days I need it most. My medical journey isn’t just about my health—it’s about everything tangled into it, including this furry circus.

I know I strayed from my medical journey today, but I thought you’d enjoy learning how we ended up in this impossible (and slightly hilarious) situation. Maybe now I sound a little less crazy—maybe.

Tune in tomorrow for more stories about the “mental anguish” of living with eight cats. Hopefully you’ll get a few laughs out of it too.