cats, mental health, ryn

My cat is my therapist.


One of the most notable things about my life is the fact that I have six cats, and I don’t think it’s weird at all.

Something that I wouldn’t have known how to articulate four years ago is that I believe full-stop in the healing powers of pet therapy.

When I tried and failed to kill myself, I got home from the hospital and adopted a kitten. I don’t recommend this to anyone who isn’t ready to devote twenty years of their life to a creature’s well being, but it was the best decision I’ve ever made. I didn’t want to live for myself; I viewed it as surviving against my will. But once I had Luna? I lived for her. She needed me to give her love and attention and tend to her basic needs, but she didn’t pity me or worry about me like the humans who loved me couldn’t help but do.

That little cat saved my life. It took a long time for my doctor to find a combination of medications to actually regulate my brain chemicals, and even longer for me to learn how to love myself. But in the morning, I would wake up to find Luna basically suffocating me because she liked to sleep as close to my face as possible. That was enough reason to keep on waking up.

A year later, I tattooed her likeness over the scar on the inside of my wrist. I had done something ugly to myself and I wanted to make it beautiful. My cat reminds me that I have something to live for even when I’m at my most hopeless.

image (2)So… four years later, I have six cats, and they run my life. Pet therapy is real, guys. My furry children are the purest joy I know. Spending all of my free time making sure they feel loved and safe is the best job in the world, I wouldn’t trade it for anything. Plus they’resocuteohmygod!

– Ryn

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