Tate

I should preface I am not a cat person by any means or at least that is what I had been told. Growing up my family always had dogs and my dad hates cats, so I was never allowed to have a cat. So naturally, the first thing I did as an adult was get a cat. That cat’s name is Tate, and he unexpectedly saved my life. Tate gave me a reason to get up in the morning because he was screaming to be fed, but it got me out of bed before noon. Tate made me laugh with his sassy personality, his clumsiness, and his ability to be a jerk. I don’t know when the exact moment I became a crazy cat mom was but the next thing I knew I had a stroller for my cat, and we now go on nightly walks. At some point, this little cat stopped being a sassy, moody roommate to being my best friend. I’m sure there are moments when he wonders why he hasn’t run away from his mess of a human, but slowly but surely the two of us have forged an unbreakable bond

A year has passed since I got Tate and we are both very different. In that year I also met the love of my life and Tate was quite the wingman in the dating process (the ones he didn’t like left a bit bloody). I also began to work on my mental health more seriously over that year too. Tate is now more trusting and no longer tries to murder my ankles when I walk down the hall. I truly believe I am doing as well as I am because of one little, stinky, cat.