I am born

Dear Diary,

Meowmy is feeding me cherry syrup and Catsip milk through a medicine dropper every four hours. I can’t control my bowel movements, and thus she has wrapped me in one of Dad’s stained fraternity t-shirts. He seemed upset when he returned from his classes at the university to discover this. They argued about the proper response to my illness, which is apparently parasitic by nature. Dad seems to believe that some time spent outdoors may be best. Meowmy was especially reactive to this suggestion, though I cannot imagine why.

I have noted that approximately  an hour after these feedings I become violently ill, at which time I am fed water and additional Catsip milk. It seems readily apparent that the feedings are causing these expulsions. Why doesn’t Meowmy see what is so evidently the cause of this issue, as I do? Is she doing this on purpose? I have tried to refuse these feedings, I have struggled, but alas, she overpowers me. At four weeks old have I fallen victim to Munchausen by proxy syndrome already? My portly round belly that drew these parents to me is quickly disappearing with every day that passes. Will I still be so eagerly loved when I am frail and thin, albeit, parasite free?

There is another kitten here, who is shockingly white with bright blue eyes. He lives upstairs with a woman who is very loud and makes sudden movements. She frightens me at times. I do look forward to our formal introductions soon enough, when I am allowed to leave the bathroom and explore my manor. Who else may be living here? I do not know.

In my brief aerial tour of the kitchen it appeared especially curious. I have noticed holes underneath the cabinets which might make a suitable kitten cubby, for when I serve tea and visit with the white kitten. Although, the sharp smells which radiate in ghastly waves throughout the room are quite deterring. Where is the maid?

There is an unoccupied bedroom to the left of the kitchen. I anticipate that once I am well this will be prepared to serve as my quarters.

Awaiting my succession to grandeur, 



the struggle


On The Road Again

Dear Diary,

I’ve been on the road again, and I must say, it’s been a perilous journey.

A few months ago I was abruptly stuffed into a crate and placed into a filthy, crowded car by Father Raysor. This is not the standard moving procedure I am accustomed to. He asks me to call him Dad, but I’m waiting to see his level of commitment on paper. This isn’t my first “Call Me Dad” rodeo.

The level of care I got from Father Raysor on the road was abysmal. I do not like to travel, and I do not like the wire casket. Even Meowmy could do better, but she was nowhere to be seen. I feared she had finally succumbed to her erratic lifestyle and perished in an accident. Or, was I being abducted?


Hark, a wire casket beyond shoulder lies!

The days passed in a disorienting nightmare. I was fed drugs with every meal. It seemed I was going to be trafficked. We were in and out of cheap motels like Thelma and Louise, dodging daylight and passerby. I awoke to a different landscape and varying will to live each morning.

Finally, we reached our destination, and I was released from my casket. I found myself in a gorgeous home on the ocean front. Was Father Raysor embezzling? My confusion was unending.

There were other humans living in the house too, and even another cat. I became fast friends with this feline, Ziggy, even though we come from substantially different backgrounds. Ziggy was an outdoor cat, and he lured me onto the deck, adamant this was the best place to bide our time and roll on nip.


Meowmy had never allowed me to romp about outdoors, let alone to be outdoors unsupervised. She had researched the life expectancies of indoor versus outdoor cats, and my habitat was thus limited long ago.

Father Raysor was not so concerned.

I have now discovered that the outside is stressful. Waves crashing, unidentified noises, burning sun. While Father Raysor clearly did not care to abide by Meowmy’s wishes, I honored them and stayed near the door to the house. Sure, I was outside, but I wasn’t on the railing! I wouldn’t go near the ledge! I would not flaunt my careless dismissal of rules and reason, as Ziggy did!

Alas, rules and reason be damned, I found myself in an empty apartment. With another abrupt trip in the wire casket gone was Father Raysor, gone was Ziggy, gone was the ocean front sunshine. For ten days a human came and went through this apartment, but we had little interaction. When my water was dirty I would scratch him until he refilled it. When my food was low, I scratched again. Our system was functional, but this does not a keeper make!

I feared the worst, after all this time, was I back at square one? Beginning my life anew in the perilous care of this stranger?

Luckily, Meowmy returned with Father Raysor before I took any desperate action. She brought along the blonde mutt baby, but I expected as much should I see her again. The stranger has remained in the apartment, but now that I understand he will not keep me, I do not mind.

Once again I have settled into my predictably uncertain circumstances with Meowmy. I wonder how long it will be before we are on the road yet again. Given our flight pattern of a different home each year since my birth, I will prepare for April, at the latest.

together again

Better Every Day

Dear Diary,

I’m back at school. I’m also not a latch-key kitty anymore. Growlma meets me at the bus stop every day with the beasts to make sure I come straight home. Meowmy could do it but, alas, the days of me wondering where on earth she is have returned. I hear she’s working, but I never know who to believe around here. For all I know she’s been holed up at the Betty Ford family program.

I feared my return to school would be awkward, at the very least, and result in my earning a social status of pariah after disappearing into the throws of rehab for so many weeks. After all, there is a certain stigma to being a cat and a stigma to addiction. I feared the combination would ensure my exclusion from climbing the social ladder at Hogwarts. How wrong I was! I’ve always known that single girls are drawn to me, my cat charm just woos them every time. Now that my struggles with cat nip have clearly marked me as being in need of “rescue” I can hardly keep them at bay.

Better every day,


Merlin’s Godfather

In this trying time in Merlin’s life I am encouraged more than ever to secure a good male role model for him. Everyone has failed him thus far and it leaves me wondering how much of his addiction is genetic predisposition and how much spurred by the emotional toll of his environment.

Naturally, being Merlin’s uncle it seemed apt to approach the topic with my younger brother, Noah. It went something like this,

Me: Noah, will you be Merlin’s godfather?

Noah: No.

Me: What? Why?!

Noah: He is a cat.

Me: He is my catSON and if I die I want you to take care of him!

Noah: If you die I’m taking him to the humane society.

Me: What? No! Noah, don’t even say that!

Noah: As soon as you all are gone I’m taking all of these animals to the humane society! They’re not mine!

Me: Noah, oh my GOD!

Noah: No one does else does this, Tasha. Pets don’t have godfathers.

Me: Actually people make wills to make sure their pets are taken care of ALL THE TIME!

Noah: Yeah, well, don’t count on me. Maybe your friend Britney or Courtney will do it.

Clearly, Merlin’s struggle has to do with a shoddy environment. So sad.

A Lost Pharaoh

Dear Diary,

Recovery doesn’t get easier the second time around. I have been clean from nip for weeks now, but as I am being kept under lock and key it hardly seems a proven accomplishment. I’ve been trying to focus on my studies, but I find it hard to concentrate. None of the others here are studying wizardry and are of little use to me in general. Evelyn only counsels me via the telephone now, urging me to participate in the group therapies and individual sessions offered by staff here. I find it difficult, however, knowing that these are dog people. Every Thursday afternoon they bring in dogs for “pet therapy”. These beasts eye me in my corner, salivating, and I know that in another time and place they would be trying to destroy me. Meanwhile, even while I’m being subjected to this intimidation, the staff and other residents are swooning all over themselves to play with the mongrels.

Only one resident said she wasn’t interested in playing with the dogs. She suggested bringing in cats. CATS! It was all I could do not to attack her myself. As if any respectable cat would subject itself to being molested by strangers for their supposed health. Unlike dogs we are INDIVIDUALS with our own dreams and desires apart from our human companions. The level of ignorance is just abhorrent. I don’t belong here.

I belong in ancient Egypt. They knew what was up.

Feeling like a lost pharaoh,


All on the line

Dear Diary,

I can admit now that I was wrong. I did not know my limitations and was foolish to head down such a dicey path with my eyes only half open. Addiction is a disease and while some may be able to use nip recreationally, it has become readily apparent that I am not one of them. Does this make me sad? Yes. Am I embarrassed? Yes. I am told that moving forward I must just accept this truth and not hang on to the mistakes I’ve already made. Evelyn insists I focus on the what next, but I’m still trying to process the rabbit hole I find myself in.

What happened to lead me to this realization is a humiliating whirlwind. 

It took no time at all for me to return to my former rate of consumption before I went to rehab the first time. I was going through two sacks of nip a day before the week was out. While hallucinating that there was a Jumanji themed monsoon in the attic I hid under the bed and attacked Meowmy’s feet as she was walking past. She may scar. According to Dumbledore I fell out during Quidditch practice and rolled onto my back in a catatonic state for close to an hour while chewing on grass. When I came to I took off my collar and skipped around the stadium. It took the Slytherin seeker an hour to finally catch me. Regardless, I somehow escaped the infirmary on campus and was discovered two days later behind the dumpster at Petco with two calicos and a sack of expired nip.

My return to Hogwarts is dependent on my completion of this rehabilitation program. Meowmy says if I scar her feet again she’s signing me over to the state. Evelyn even threatened to refer me to a specialist.

It’s all on the line now.


I can handle it

Dear Diary,

Evelyn told Meowmy about the nip. She pulled me out of school in the middle of the day and sent me to detox without any of my belongings! I had to wear the supplied pajamas and socks with rubber on the bottom like all the court-ordered people. It was awful! I hate her! She doesn’t have to take away what dignity I have left just to prove her point! She could have EASILY packed a small duffle for me with some of my favorite things. A can of salmon would have really meant a lot!

Of course I was the only cat in the whole facility. Which was a huge benefit in that I didn’t have to go anywhere near that locker-room style corral to be hosed down and had my own litter box under the bed. I would have preferred my own room, but big surprise: Meowmy’s insurance blows.

Being the singular feline did make group sessions awkward, however. No one else had done nip. Sure, I could relate to their hang-ups with booze and opiates but no one really understood where I was coming from. Nip is so much more intense than that. It’s like a stimulant hallucinogen euphoria. Everything is interesting and colorful and fast and happy. It’s the best of meth, acid, and coke! Oh yeah, alcohol obviously ruins your life. Your liver is shutting down, you have seven DUIs, you piss the bed regularly. OBVIOUSLY you need to stop. What have I damaged? A sofa or two? Hogwarts has NO IDEA I’m using. Meowmy told them I would be gone for a week due to a family emergency. It’s going to be fine.

I don’t know. I’m not saying I’m going to go back to using every day, but maybe every now and then. I’m not like the others. I just needed some self control, I can handle it.