Not all people.
But enough.
Enough that it tells you something.
It is strange, the things our culture permits.
A person can boast about working themselves numb, answer messages at midnight, eat lunch from a vending machine, and call that discipline.
A person can cut off every needy corner of their life until they are spiritually living in a storage unit, and half the world will praise them for being realistic.
But say out loud that two cats loved each other and should stay together even if it made things less convenient, and suddenly people need a committee.
I didn’t answer the comments that night.
The next morning, there were more.
One woman wrote that she had worked in rescue for years and watched bonded animals fall apart after separation because adopters kept insisting love was sentimental nonsense.
A man wrote that his brother had moved in with him after a divorce and people called it failure, but what they really meant was that he had chosen not to be lonely on principle.
Someone wrote, “This country teaches us to afford things before we deserve them, including comfort.”
That line stayed with me all day.
Afford things before we deserve them.
Yes.
That was it.
The whole ugly machine in one sentence.
As if love is a premium feature.
As if care should be delayed until your life becomes tidy enough to host it.
As if healing must wait for a better quarter.
That weekend, my sister came over.
She had not visited since before the cats.
She brought soup in a container I still have because she always buys practical containers with good lids.
Weston distrusted her immediately.
Louie hid for eleven minutes, then reappeared from behind the bedroom door.
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