Captain’s Log: When the Environment Becomes the Enemy

 

Captain’s Log, Stardate 2601.240825

This log documents the point where environment, stress, and chronic illness fully collide. Originally written to explain why “eight cats” became more than just chaos, it’s being reissued now as part of a broader record—because healing doesn’t happen in isolation, and sometimes the ship itself becomes the hardest thing to stabilize.

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Now that everyone knows the backstory of how I ended up with a household full of eight cats, tonight you’ll see why it’s even crazier than it sounds. This isn’t just a quirky pet story—it’s part of my medical journey, and it’s taken a huge toll on me both physically and mentally.

Writing with Chaos All Around

I’ve included a photo of my writing station tonight. Only three cats made it into the picture, but it couldn’t be more fitting—because the two you see most clearly are the ones who give us the hardest time, one mine and one Ryan’s.

The big cat stretched across the glass table is my boy, Hodor.
The little guy curled up on my lap is Ryan’s cat, Spot.
The fluffy black “void” lounging in the bed is Zim, who never photographs well since she blends into the background.

That snapshot sums up life here: constant furry distractions, a battle between personalities, and stories that never end.

Cats Who Grow Into Their Names

I’ve had cats all my life, but never cats this weird. Somehow, each one becomes their name.

Most of the time, I name them after whatever show I’m watching. Zim’s predecessor was Gir (if you’re in your mid-to-late 30s or early 40s, you probably know those names from Invader Zim). Every black cat I’ll ever have will carry a name from that series—next would be Dib or Gaz.

Chino is the exception, named by my ex after the Deftones singer. And of course, Ryan named his cats before he moved in.

But Hodor is the most fitting of all. If you’ve seen Game of Thrones, you’ll understand why—huge, sweet, and completely unaware of his own strength. For some odd reason, he’s also obsessed with banging on doors… constantly. What started as quirky quickly became one of the most disruptive habits in our household.

Life with a Door-Banging Cat

If you’ve ever seen a cat stand on two legs and paw at a door like they’re trying to claw through it, that’s Hodor—but without claws. He just bangs. Over and over.

His pounding became so relentless that we installed patio flaps—one from the bedroom and one from the living room—just so he could come and go without keeping us awake all night.

When Ryan moved in, we added a window insert with a flap in his office so other cats could access the patio without being bullied at the main doors. Then there’s the door from my kitchen to the garage, right outside our master bedroom. Hearing Hodor slam on that glass at 2 a.m. while the blinds rattled was unbearable.

That flap was my fault. When I first moved in, I let Hodor hang out in the garage because it has patio screens. He loved watching people walk their dogs. Once that habit stuck, the banging started whenever he wanted back in. The flap became the only way to protect my sanity—and my blinds.

Sometimes our house feels more like a cat playground than a home. Walls, flaps, inserts—everything modified for them. They’re spoiled beyond belief, and yet the noise, fighting, and chaos constantly push us to our limits.

The Toll on Our Mental Health

We love these cats, but the chaos wears us down. The thought of rehoming comes up in desperate conversations. Spot could go to my mom’s—but what about Hodor? No one wants an adult cat with quirks. The idea of losing him is heartbreaking.

When the Neighbor’s Cat Arrived

For the first six months after Ryan moved in, things were rough but manageable. Then new renters moved in down the street—and they brought an outdoor cat.

That single change flipped everything. The moment Hodor noticed him, his behavior shifted from goofy menace to constant stress.

Years ago, when I lived with my evil stepmom, we had nine cats. That’s when the chaos crossed a line—spraying, ruined clothes, misery. Apparently, nine really is the tipping point.

And sure enough, the spraying began.

At first, I thought it was a stray—until I saw the cat walking with its owners and their dogs. When I asked if they could keep him inside, explaining how badly it affected my indoor cats, the answer was simple: “He’s an outdoor cat.”

So we adapted.

Building the Fortress

Spring and summer became months of backbreaking labor:

• Blocking fence gaps with bricks and scrap

• Reinforcing walls with metal fencing

• Installing motion-sensor water sprayers

• Laying down spiked scat mats

• Ripping out plants—even after investing in a greenhouse

• Hauling dirt, rebuilding walls, reinforcing structures

• Replacing destroyed grass with artificial turf

The physical toll on me was brutal. Heavy lifting, Florida heat, nausea, hot flashes—I often had to stop mid-project just to recover.

And after all of it?

Hodor still sprays.

Ring cameras later revealed others were spraying too.

When It Still Isn’t Enough

We spent hundreds on pheromones, cleaners, repellents—none of it worked. Every “solution” added more cost, more exhaustion, and more frustration.

The Daily Grind of Chaos

Eight cats means daily puke, pee, fur, and litter. Laundry never ends. Ammonia smells linger. Shedding is relentless.

Add in my allergies to Ryan’s cats, and daily life has become almost unbearable.

The Weight of What If

The worst fear isn’t the mess—it’s the thought that we might never fix it. Rehoming Hodor keeps me up at night. Panic attacks, tears, endless conversations—we’ve lived them all.

This isn’t just about cats. It’s about how constant stress destroys an already fragile body.

So maybe this is a cautionary tale:

👉 Don’t get eight cats.
Unless you’re ready for endless pee, puke, fur, allergies, vet bills, and heartbreak.

And yet… here we are. Still trying. Still hoping tomorrow is better than today.