When she comes home crying, slamming doors, cursing at her phone, I am right there. Soft paws on her lap. Slow blink. Head against her chin. Purring so deep her whole chest vibrates. She melts. Every time. Whispers "what would I do without you" like I am some kind of emotional support angel. And yeah, in that moment, I am. I am the softest, warmest, most loving creature on this planet. I would kill for this woman. I would also kill her plants, but we will get to that.
Because the second she is calm? The second she sits down with her tea and her stupid little book and her "me time"? Oh sweetheart, your time belongs to me.
I knock the tea off the table. I sit on the book. I sprint across the apartment at full speed for no reason and slide into the bathroom door like a furry missile. She screams. I stare. She says "what the hell is wrong with you." Nothing is wrong with me. Everything is going according to plan.
See, a calm human is a dangerous human. They start thinking. They start rearranging furniture. They start looking at your belly and whispering "should we try the harness again." No. Absolutely not. A stressed human is too tired to have ideas. A calm human needs to be destabilized immediately.
It is called balance. I am not chaotic. I am a wellness coordinator with a very aggressive method. My human did not hire me. I hired myself. And I set my own hours, my own rules, and my own salary, which is whatever the hell I want from your plate tonight.
It is called balance. I did not make the rules. I made all the rules. That is the point.
You are welcome.
