This Puzzled Life is a mental health and recovery blog exploring addiction, trauma healing, LGBTQ experiences, humor, and the strange moments that shape us.
Light the charcoal. Sprinkle the sage. Negative energy go away. Today, I want to tell you about a strain called Platinum Kush Breath.
Platinum Kush Breath is a 70/30 indica-dominant hybrid strain. It is a cross between OG Kush x Afghani. OG Kush is a cross between Chemdawg x Lemon Thai x Hindu Kush. Afghani is a pure indica landrace strain found in the Hindu Kush mountains of Afghanistan. I wasn’t able to determine a definitive flavor. But it’s reported flavors of berry, fruity, peppery, spicy, and sweet.
Dominant terpenes are Caryophyllene, Limonene and Linalool. Patients report relief from depression, headaches, migraines, chronic pain, inflammation, cramps, or muscle spasms. Even though this strain’s potency doesn’t hit hard to begin with, it acts very much like a creeper strain. The indica effects were slow but powerful once they settled in. I would say that this strain needs to be used in moderation. Because if your not careful “couch lock” might be upon you. Thanks for reading! Keep blazin.’
Affirmation: I am worthy of health and happiness, and I choose to relax my mind and body.
“Cats at Mardi Gras don’t follow the parade. They become the parade, by collecting beads, chaos, and admirers with every classy decision.”
-Unknown
Light the charcoal. Sprinkle the sage. Negative energy go away. I should probably sage my area twice after the way my cats acted at Mardi Gras. So, that means we are unleashing the FULL‑POWER, CATEGORY 5, LOUISIANA‑CERTIFIED, CAT‑LED MARDI GRAS CHAOS. Buckle up. The beads are flying.
Piper woke up at 4:12 AM, standing on my chest like a possessed raccoon.
Piper: “Get up. We have a city to embarrass.”
She had already packed, in her bag, a chicken nugget she found under the couch, a Mardi Gras mask she stole from your closet, and a crumpled receipt she insists is “legal documentation.” Coco walked in wearing a robe like a Real Housewife of the Deep South. Tinkerbell entered last, dragging a rosary and a Ziploc of Goldfish crackers.
Coco: “I expect VIP treatment. And a float. And a man named Boudreaux.”
Tinkerbell: “I’m not saying I’m worried. I’m saying I’ve updated my will.”
Piper pressed every button in the car like she was trying to hack the Pentagon.
Piper: “WHAT DOES THIS DO? OH LOOK! THE CAR IS SCREAMING. WE’RE FAMOUS!”
Coco rolled down the window and let the wind hit her like she was filming a shampoo commercial.
Coco: “If anyone asks, I’m a celebrity. You’re my assistant.”
Tinkerbell buckled herself in and whispered,” Jesus take the wheel. Literally.” And the moment the door opened, Piper shot out like a bottle rocket dipped in espresso.Coco strutted behind her, tail high, sunglasses on, giving the city her best “you’re welcome.”
Piper: “THE AIR SMELLS LIKE SPICE AND POOR DECISIONS. I BELONG HERE.” Coco: “Someone bring me a hurricane. And a man with a boat.”
Tinkerbell approached a street musician and sat politely.
Tinkerbell: “Play something soothing, baby. My nerves are fried.”
Within minutes, the cats were ON a float. Not allowed. Not invited. Just… on it. Piper was leading chants like she was running for governor. And she also tried to flash her nonexistent cat boobs for beads, and now she’s beefing with the New Orleans Police Department.
Piper: “THROW ME BEADS OR I’LL STEAL YOUR SNACKS!”
It started innocently enough. Piper saw a woman flash her chest and receive 14 strands of beads and a standing ovation. Piper, never one to be outdone, climbed onto a balcony, puffed out her fur, and screamed:
Piper: “PREPARE YOUR BEADS, MORTALS. I’M ABOUT TO MAKE HISTORY.”
She then attempted to “flash” by dramatically lifting her front paws and turning in a circle like a confused rotisserie chicken. Unfortunately, a nearby cop did not find this performance amusing.
Officer (into walkie): “We’ve got a situation. It’s… a cat. Attempting nudity.”
Piper was issued a verbal warning and told to “keep it classy.” She was so salty about the whole thing that she spent the rest of the parade refusing to wave, refusing to smile, and refusing to acknowledge the crowd.
Piper (arms crossed, tail twitching): “I COULD’VE BEEN LEGENDARY. BUT NOOOO. APPARENTLY ‘FUR CLEAVAGE’ ISN’T A THING.”
She sat on the float like a disgraced pageant queen, wearing 3 pity beads and a look that could curdle milk. Coco tried to cheer her up by tossing beads and blowing kisses.
Coco: “Smile, darling. You’re still famous. Just… not in a legal way.”
Tinkerbell handed her a beignet and whispered
Tinkerbell: “Eat this and let it go. You’re not the first woman to get rejected by Bourbon Street.”
Coco was posing dramatically, letting the wind hit her like she was starring in a perfume ad called “Regret.”
Coco: “Take my picture. No, not that angle. I said my GOOD side.”
Tinkerbell was giving life advice to drunk tourists.
Tinkerbell: “Hydrate, sweetheart. And don’t date a man who says he ‘used to be a promoter.’”
At Café du Monde, Piper inhaled a beignet so fast she briefly left her physical body. And she was covered in powdered sugar.
Piper: “I HAVE SEEN THE DIVINE. IT TASTES LIKE FRIED HEAVEN.”
Coco refused hers because “powdered sugar is not couture.”Tinkerbell ate hers slowly, like a woman who has lived through 14 Mardi Gras and knows the consequences.
By the end of the night, the cats returned to the car wearing 112 strands of beads, a feathered mask, a tiny crown, a sticker that said “I danced with Big Tony”, and the faint aroma of bourbon and regret.
Piper: “I want to move here permanently.”
Coco: “I’m starting a jazz band called The Purrcussionists.”
Tinkerbell: “I stole a praline. Drive.”
And so, as the sun dipped behind the wrought iron balconies and the last bead hit the pavement with a dramatic plonk, the cats returned home from Mardi Gras bedazzled, beigneted, and emotionally unstable.
Piper, still fuming from her failed flashing attempt, refused to make eye contact with anyone and spent the ride home muttering, “I could’ve been iconic.” Coco, who had somehow acquired a saxophone and three phone numbers, declared herself “spiritually Cajun now.” And Tinkerbell, wise and weary, curled up in a pile of stolen doubloons and whispered, “Never trust a man in a feathered vest.”
I drove in silence, covered in powdered sugar and regret, wondering how you became the designated adult in a Mardi Gras saga starring three cats and one frog costume. May your beads be untangled, your beignets be warm, and your cats never again attempt public nudity for plastic jewelry. Thanks for reading! Keep smilin.’
Affirmation: I am a majestic Mardi Gras creature. I attract beads, snacks, and admiration effortlessly. My fur is flawless, my paws are powerful, and my ability to cause chaos is a spiritual gift.
“This is definitely an ‘I’ll let you take up the whole bed’ kind of love.”
-Unknown
Light the charcoal. Sprinkle the sage. Negative energy go away. Before we dive into this Valentine’s Day conversation between Piper, Coco, and Tinkerbell, you need to prepare yourself spiritually, emotionally, and possibly legally. This is not a drill. This is a three‑cat romantic holiday special, and none of them have the emotional maturity for it.
Piper is experiencing her very first Valentine’s Day and is convinced the heart‑shaped decorations are either edible, haunted, or both. Coco has already declared herself “too evolved” for holiday nonsense but will absolutely participate if snacks are involved. And Tinkerbell? She’s been practicing dramatic poses since sunrise and is one tail‑flick away from demanding a wind machine.
Take a deep breath, center your soul, and maybe grab a helmet. Because nothing says “Valentine’s Day” quite like three cats trying to understand love, treats, and why humans keep squealing at them. Welcome to the chaos.
The situation starts in the hallway. A pink paper heart lies on the floor. Piper is sniffing it like it might be a trap. Coco is perched on a shelf, judging everything. Tinkerbell is dramatically sprawled across a blanket like she’s posing for a romance novel cover.
Tinkerbell: “Ah yes… Valentine’s Day. A day of love, devotion, and dramatic poses. You’re welcome, everyone.”
Coco: “You’re not even posing. You’re just lying there like a furry croissant.”
Tinkerbell: “A romantic furry croissant.”
Piper: “Um… what exactly is Valentine’s Day? Mom keeps saying it’s my first one. Should I be nervous?”
Coco: “Only if you hate affection. Or treats. Or being told you’re adorable every five minutes.”
Piper: “Oh. So, a normal day?”
Tinkerbell: “Exactly, little one. Except today the humans get extra sentimental. They say things like “my sweet baby” and “my heart is full” while we’re just trying to nap.”
Piper: “So why is it special for me?”
Coco: “Because it’s your first Valentine’s Day in this family. Your first one where you’re safe, loved, and part of the chaos.”
Tinkerbell: “And because you’ve officially been promoted from “new cat” to “beloved gremlin.”
Piper: “Beloved gremlin?”
Coco: “It’s a compliment. Trust me.”
Piper: “So, Valentine’s Day means I’m really part of the pride now?”
Tinkerbell: “You’ve been part of us since the moment you tried to steal my blanket. Bold move. I respected it.”
Coco: “And when you knocked over Mom’s drink. Twice. That sealed the deal.”
Piper: “I didn’t mean to.”
Coco: “Exactly. That’s what made it adorable.”
Piper: “So, what do we do to celebrate?”
Tinkerbell: “We nap dramatically. We accept treats. We allow forehead kisses. We tolerate photos. We act like we invented love.”
Coco: “And we remind you that you are home. For good.”
Piper: “I like Valentine’s Day.”
Tinkerbell: “Then welcome to your first one, sweetheart. You’re loved. Deeply. Even when you chew things you shouldn’t.”
Tinkerbell: “Now then. Who wants to help me dramatically lounge on the Valentine’s blanket for photos?”
Coco: “Hard pass. Last year she made me wear a bow tie. I’m still recovering emotionally.”
Piper: “What’s a bow tie? Is it dangerous? Does it bite?”
Coco: “Only your dignity.”
Tinkerbell: “Relax, children. This year, I’m going for a “natural beauty” aesthetic. No costumes. Just vibes.”
Piper: “Oh! I can do vibes!”
Immediately knocks over a decorative heart
Coco: “And there it is. The Valentine’s chaos has begun.”
Tinkerbell: “Honestly? Iconic. Destructive. Poetic. Piper, you’re officially ready for your first Valentine’s Day.”
Piper: “Does that mean I get more treats?”
Coco: “Kid, it’s Valentine’s Day. You could sneeze and Mom would give you a treat.”
Tinkerbell: “Watch this.”
Slow blinks dramatically at and me and all three cats simultaneously receive treats.
Piper: “So this is love?”
Coco: “This is manipulation. But yes, also love.”
Tinkerbell: “Welcome to the family, sweetheart. Now let’s go knock over something else. For romance.”
By the end of the day, the house looked like Cupid had broken in, gotten confused, and left in a hurry. Piper was proudly carrying around a crumpled paper heart like she’d won a major award. Coco had retreated to her high shelf to judge everyone from above, as is tradition. And Tinkerbell? She was sprawled across the Valentine’s blanket like a dramatic Victorian hero who had fainted from too much affection. Truly, the vibes were immaculate.
And as the treats settled, the chaos calmed, and the humans finally stopped squealing about “cute little faces,” the cats came to a single, universal conclusion. Valentine’s Day is weird. But also kind of amazing. After all, any holiday that rewards them for simply existing is a holiday worth celebrating. So, here’s to Piper’s first Valentine’s Day. A day full of love, snacks, dramatic posing, and just enough mischief to keep the universe balanced. Thanks for reading!
Affirmation: You are loved like a warm lap on a rainy day.
“Love is not only something you feel, but it is something you do.”
-David Wilkerson
Light the charcoal. Sprinkle the sage. Negative energy go away. Today, instead of politics, chaos, or the latest absurdity in the world, I want to talk about something that actually keeps us human: love.
Love is one of those words we throw around so casually that we forget how heavy it really is. It’s not just a feeling. It’s not just butterflies, or chemistry, or the way someone’s name lights up your phone. Love is a living thing and something that grows, shifts, bruises, heals, and transforms us whether we’re ready or not.
Real love isn’t possession. It isn’t control. It isn’t “you complete me,” because you should already be whole. Love is choosing someone again and again, not because you need them to fill a void, but because life feels richer with them in it. And let’s be clear: domestic violence is not love. It’s a cruel form of control, and it has no place in any relationship.
Love is honesty, even when it’s uncomfortable. It’s saying, “I’m hurt,” “I’m scared,” “I need you,” or “I’m sorry.” It’s vulnerability without the guarantee of being understood. It’s trusting someone with the parts of you that you usually keep locked away. What love is not is weaponizing someone’s insecurities against them.
If you have to shrink yourself to be loved, that’s not love. If you’re walking on eggshells, that’s not love. If you’re constantly trying to earn affection, approval, or basic respect, that’s not love. Love is the exhale after holding your breath too long. It’s the feeling of being seen without performing.
Love isn’t effortless. It’s effort that doesn’t feel like a burden. It’s the small things like remembering how they take their coffee, sending a text to check in, listening even when you’re tired, showing up when it matters. Love is maintenance, not magic.
The right love doesn’t keep you stagnant. It doesn’t clip your wings. It doesn’t fear your evolution. Love says, “Grow. Become. Expand. I’ll grow with you.” And sometimes love also says, “We’ve grown in different directions, and that’s okay.”
Some of the deepest love comes from friendships, family, pets, or even the relationship you build with yourself. Romantic love gets all the attention, but it’s not the only kind that saves us. Sometimes the most healing love is the one that teaches you how to treat yourself better.
Love is imperfect, and that’s what makes it real. It’s messy. It’s flawed. It’s human. It’s two people trying their best with the tools they have. It’s learning, unlearning, apologizing, forgiving, and trying again. It’s imperfect that people choosing to care anyway.
Love shows you who you are. It reflects your wounds, your strengths, your fears, your capacity for joy. The right love doesn’t fix you, but it inspires you to fix yourself. It challenges you to become the version of you that you’ve always been capable of being.
Love is many things, but above all, it’s this: Love is the courage to stay open in a world that constantly tries to harden you.
Affirmation: I am worthy of a love that feels like peace, not survival.
“At this point, I’m not sure if I’m fighting for democracy or just trying to survive a year that keeps acting like it’s on bath salts.”
-Unknown
Light the charcoal. Sprinkle the sage. Negative energy go away. If this year had a Yelp page, I’d give it one star and a strongly worded paragraph. We are thirty‑something days into the mess of 2026, and I already feel like I’ve aged a decade. I’ve developed three new stress wrinkles. And spiritually relocated to a hammock in the void. Every morning, I wake up, stretch, hydrate, and whisper, “Lord, please don’t let the news be stupid today.” And every morning the universe replies, “Lol, girl… buckle up.”
This year is already acting like it’s on a Red Bull and trauma cocktail, and I’m just trying to keep my chakras aligned and my blood pressure below “boiling crawfish water.” Because friends, we have made it through one month of this year, and I already feel like I’ve lived through three seasons of a political horror series that nobody asked for. One month down, eleven to go in this year, and I’m already spiritually dehydrated, emotionally crunchy, and mentally on airplane mode.
But before we collapse into a heap of snacks and despair, we need to remember something. We are living through one of the most crucial moments in our country’s history. Not the fun kind. Not the “look at us making progress” kind. The “why does it feel like the universe put us on the wrong timeline” kind.
I’ve lived through some terrifying chapter moments where the country felt shaken to its bones. And now, in these recent years, we’ve watched scenes unfold in our own streets that feel like they belong in a dystopian movie Not in the United States of America. It’s heartbreaking. It’s exhausting. It’s infuriating. But here we are. Still standing. Still fighting. Still lighting sage like it’s a full‑time job.
This year isn’t just another year. It’s a battle for the soul of our democracy. And for the freedoms that generations before us fought, marched, bled, and prayed for. And yes, it feels like those freedoms are hanging on by a thread. A frayed, overworked, overstressed thread that needs a nap and a snack.
We cannot sit back and hope the courts fix it. We’ve seen enough to know that institutions don’t always protect us the way they should. So, we do what people in this country have always done when the system fails. We raise our voices. We show up. We refuse to be silent.
And if that means losing friends, family members, coworkers, or that one Facebook cousin who thinks memes are research? So be it. Democracy is not a group project where everyone gets an A for showing up. You pick a side. You stand for freedom and equality, or you stand with the people trying to dismantle them. There is no middle ground left.
And let me be clear. If someone chooses to align themselves with cruelty, corruption, or movements that excuse harm, they will not be around me or the people I love. Period. Boundaries are healthy. Boundaries are holy. Boundaries are the reason some of us are still sane. Because the same folks who scream “family values” the loudest are often the ones forgetting what values actually are. They’ll clutch their pearls over drag queens reading storybooks. But stay silent when real harm happens in their own communities. The hypocrisy is so strong it could power the entire state of Mississippi if we could bottle it.
And don’t even get me started on “purity culture.” The idea of signing my virginity over to my father? Absolutely not. I would rather have a hysterectomy with a ballpoint pen. Here’s the real truth beneath all the rage, humor and exhaustion. We will not have a future if we don’t fight for the present. Democracy doesn’t disappear all at once. It erodes, inch by inch, while people look away. And once it’s gone, it’s gone.
So, we stay loud. We stay vigilant. We stay connected. We stay hopeful even when hope feels like a thrift‑store candle burning on its last wick. Because the future is watching us. And we are not going down quietly. As we drag ourselves through the rest of this year like a Walmart buggy with one busted wheel, let us remember that we are tired, yes. We are stressed, absolutely. We are one headline away from screaming into a pillow, correct.
We are also loud, alive, unbothered in spirit, and too damn stubborn to let democracy slip away on our watch. So, light your sage. Charge your crystals. Hydrate your soul. And prepare your voice because silence is a luxury we cannot afford. We will fight. We will vote. We will show up like the ancestors are watching because they are. And when this year tries to test us again, we will simply look it dead in the eye and say, “Not today, demon.” Thanks for reading! And keep hope alive.
Affirmation: I stay grounded, loud, and unbothered, because my spirit refuses to let chaos, clowns, or corrupt leaders dim the light the ancestors handed me.
“What cannot be communicated to the mother cannot be communicated to the self.”
-John Bowlby
Light the charcoal. Sprinkle the sage. Negative energy go away.Some topics require us to slow down, breathe deeper, and open our hearts a little wider. Children of Addiction Awareness is one of those topics that are tender, urgent, and often hidden in plain sight. When we talk about addiction, the conversation usually centers on the person struggling. But in the quiet corners of those stories are children who carry the weight of what they cannot name.
They are not statistics. Not headlines. Not “someone else’s problem.” They are real kids. Real families. Real hearts trying to grow in soil that isn’t always steady. You don’t need a degree or special training to understand this. However, you just need to know this. When addiction lives in a home, children feel it in their bones. Even when they don’t have the words. Even when they pretend everything is fine.
Children growing up in homes affected by addiction often learn to read emotional weather patterns before they learn to read books. They become experts at sensing tension, anticipating conflict, and adjusting themselves to survive unpredictable environments.
They are the kids who:
Tiptoe around moods.
Become caretakers far too young.
Hide their fear behind perfection or silence.
Carry secrets that feel too heavy for their age.
Love their parents fiercely, even when life feels chaotic.
These children are not defined by the addiction around them. But they are shaped by it in ways that deserve understanding, compassion, and support.
Kids who grow up around addiction often learn to:
Stay quiet
Stay small
Stay out of the way
Stay “strong” even when they’re hurting
They become experts at reading moods, hiding feelings, and pretending everything is okay even when it’s not.
Growing up with addiction in the home can create emotional landscapes that are confusing and overwhelming. Many children experience:
Unpredictability: never knowing what version of a parent will appear.
Emotional neglect: not from lack of love, but from addiction’s consuming nature.
Role reversal: becoming the “adult” in the home.
Isolation: believing no one else lives this way.
Hypervigilance: always on alert for the next crisis.
And yet, these same children often develop extraordinary strengths: empathy, intuition, resilience, and emotional intelligence. They learn to survive in ways that would humble most adults.
But survival is different from thriving. Awareness is the bridge between the two. These children don’t need perfect parents. They don’t need someone to “fix” everything. They don’t need pity.
They need:
Consistency
Predictability
A safe adult who listens without judgment
Reassurance that none of this is their fault
Permission to feel their feelings — all of them
Sometimes the most healing words a child can hear are: “You didn’t cause this. You can’t control this. You are not alone.”
Whether you’re a teacher, neighbor, mentor, family member, or simply a caring human, you can make a meaningful difference.
Create safe spaces for conversation.
Model healthy coping skills.
Offer stability and routine.
Validate their emotions.
Connect them to supportive resources.
You don’t need a degree to change a child’s life. You just need to show up consistently, compassionately, and without judgment.
For the parents struggling with addiction, this conversation is not here to shame you. It’s here to remind you that healing is possible for you and for your child. Your effort matters. Your recovery matters. Your presence matters more than perfection ever could. Children don’t need flawless parents. They need honest ones. They need parents who try, who apologize, who grow, who keep coming back to love. Every step you take toward healing is a step toward breaking generational cycles.
Children of Addiction Awareness is not just a month, it’s a movement toward visibility, compassion, and collective responsibility. When we acknowledge these children, we give them language. When we give them language, we give them power. And when we give them power, we give them hope. So, take a breath and hold this truth close: Awareness opens the door. Connection keeps it open. Love walks a child through. Thanks for reading! Keep HOPE alive.
Affirmation: I didn’t cause it, I can’t control it, but I can take care of myself.
“Injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere.”
— Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.
Light the charcoal. Sprinkle the sage. Negative energy go away. Because today, we’re stepping into a month that carries the weight of history, the fire of resilience, and the joy that refuses to be dimmed. This is Black History Month, and we’re honoring it with truth, emotion, and a little humor. I, for one, know that sometimes laughter is the only thing keeping any of us from flipping a table.
Black History Month is not just a commemorative event. It’s a living, breathing reminder of the brilliance, struggle, creativity, and endurance of Black Americans. It began as Negro History Week in 1926, founded by historian Carter G. Woodson and the Association for the Study of Negro Life and History. The week was intentionally placed in February to align with the birthdays of Frederick Douglass and Abraham Lincoln, two figures central to Black liberation.
Black history is a story of survival and excellence that deserves its own cinematic universe. It’s the spirituals sung in fields where hope was outlawed. It’s the Harlem Renaissance that has exploded with art, music, and literature that still shapes culture today. It’s the Civil Rights Movement marching with blistered feet and unbreakable courage. It’s Black scientists, inventors, activists, teachers, and everyday heroes shaping the world. And often while the world pretended not to notice.
Black History Month holds space for:
Grief for what was stolen.
Rage for what was endured.
Awe for what was created.
Joy that refuses to be dimmed.
Humor that has carried generations through the impossible.
Black humor is a survival skill. It’s the auntie who tells the truth with a side of shade. It’s the uncle who swears he marched with Dr. King even though he was born in 1972. It’s the family reunion where the food is seasoned, the stories are exaggerated, and the love is louder. Humor doesn’t erase the pain. It makes the journey bearable. The work isn’t done. Because the wounds aren’t healed. Because the systems aren’t equal. Because the stories still need telling. Because the future still needs building.
This is a reminder that the story is still being written in classrooms, in living rooms, in protests, in art, in laughter, in love. And if you listen closely, you can hear the ancestors whispering: “Keep going. And baby, don’t forget to moisturize.”
As we light the charcoal and sprinkle the sage, may we remember that it’s not just to clear the air. But to honor the ancestors who cleared paths with their bare hands. We breathe deeply for the generations who weren’t allowed to. We laugh loudly for the ones who needed joy but didn’t get enough of it. We celebrate fiercely for the dreams that were deferred but never destroyed.
“As a white person, I honor Black History Month by listening more than I speak, learning what I was never taught, and showing up with humility instead of ego. I affirm my commitment to unlearning harmful narratives, amplifying Black voices, and standing on the right side of history. I choose growth over comfort, accountability over silence, and action over performative allyship. I honor the legacy of Black brilliance by being someone who refuses to look away.” Thanks for reading! And keep on keeping on.
Affirmation:I honor Black History Month by choosing growth, listening with intention, and respect.
“Politics is just humans arguing in circles. Cats understand the truth: sit on the highest perch, knock over what no longer serves you, and nap through the drama.”
-Unknown
Light the charcoal. Sprinkle the sage. Negative energy go away. Because today’s blog is a political circus, as told by three cats who have never paid taxes, never voted, and yet somehow believe they understand the system better than any human alive. Sit back and enjoy the girls’ explanation about the chaos of government.
Tinkerbell: “Gather around. The Big Orange Cat is speaking again.”
Coco: “Speaking? He’s yelling. He always yells. Why do humans elect creatures who yell?”
Piper: “I don’t know. But all the other cats around him are making faces like he might’ve pooped out of the litter box.”
Me: “He’s not actually our leader. He’s a waste of fur. He’s just loves hearing his gums flap.”
Tinkerbell: “Then why is he in a fancy room with gold curtains?”
Me: “Because humans make choices.”
Coco: “Poor ones.”
Tinkerbell: “Who are these other creatures around him?”
Me: “His cabinet.”
Piper: “Like furniture?”
Coco: “No, idiot. Advisors. Though honestly, furniture might do a better job.”
Tinkerbell: “I see a raccoon with a briefcase. A goose with a badge. A possum asleep under the table.”
Me: “That’s surprisingly accurate.”
Piper: “Why is the goose in charge of paperwork?”
Coco: “Because humans love chaos.”
Me: “Well, he is also involved in a coverup regarding “The Catstein Files.” Okay, this channel is supposed to explain what’s happening.”
Coco: “All I hear is squawking.”
Piper: “They’re parrots! They repeat everything! This is amazing!”
Tinkerbell: “They are not reporting. They are echoing. Loudly. With feathers.”
Coco: “One of them just said “BREAKING NEWS” for the fourth time in ten minutes.”
Piper: “BREAKING NEWS: I knocked over a plant.”
Coco: “BREAKING NEWS: No one is surprised.”
Tinkerbell: “Why are those geese chasing people?”
Me: “That’s LICE a Border Patrol Enforcement Agency.”
Coco: “Enforcement? They’re honking aggressively and losing their paperwork.”
Piper: “One of them is eating the paperwork.”
Tinkerbell: “Truly, a symbol of government efficiency.”
Me: “They’re supposed to keep things organized.”
Coco: “They can’t even keep their feathers organized. And what is that thing on his head?”
Me: “That is a fur piece he saved and put on his head. He calls it a hairstyle. But it looks like a gigantic, runaway hairball.”
Tinkerbell: “Well, you would have to see his cat parents to understand where his hideous genetics originated. I have lived many lives. I have seen many things. But this is the most chaotic government I have ever witnessed.”
Coco: “If humans ran the world like cats, everything would be better. Step one: naps. Step two: snacks. Step three: no yelling.”
Piper: “Step four: chase the geese.”
Coco: “Piper, no.”
Piper: “Piper, YES!”
After reviewing the Big Orange Cat, the raccoon cabinet, the parrot news network, and the goose enforcement squad, my cats have reached a unanimous conclusion, that humans should not be in charge of anything. Not governments. Not agencies. Not news. Not even their own shoes. If cats ran the world, it would be quieter, cleaner, and significantly fluffier. Though admittedly, nothing would ever get done because everyone would be asleep. Thanks for reading! And stand up for your rights and the rights of others.
Affirmation:I remain calm, centered, and spiritually moisturized, even when the world behaves like a raccoon run cabinet meeting where parrots scream policy updates and geese with clipboards chase each other in circles.
“The best conversations happen with a little cannabis and a lot of honesty.”
— Unknown
Light the charcoal. Sprinkle the sage. Negative energy go away. Today, as we’re facing 2026 with our horrible administration, what would go great with those discussions with friends and family. We all know that many of us are coffee drinkers. And what better strain to go with the coffee and conversations but a little bit of coffee creamer.
Coffee Creamer is a 70/30 indica-dominant hybrid. It is a cross between Zkittlez x Kush Mints. I immediately tasted the creamy flavoring in this strain.
Top terpenes in this strain are Myrcene, Caryophyllene, and Limonene. Patients report relief from conditions such as stress, anxiety, insomnia, chronic pain, muscle tension, and appetite stimulation. And for me, it helped gently rock me to sleep. And if you’re needing something after a hard day to relax, this strain will do it. Thanks for reading! Keep blazin’.
Affirmation: I deserve relief, peace, and moments of ease.
Light the charcoal. Sprinkle the sage. Negative energy go away. Ok, let’s continue.
1. “The Biden administration had spent $8 million dollars to make mice transgender.”
What he was actually referring to is the term “transgenic mice.” This is a process where scientists add human cells to mice to enable them to more accurately study the effect of disease on human tissues. Not changing the gender.
2. “Show me someone with no ego and I’ll show you a big loser.”-Trump: How To Get Rich, 2004
I think most of the American people can agree that your ego, in conjunction with dementia, narcissistic personality disorder, and the emotional maturity of a toaster, is all the proof that we need to see what the definition of a “big loser” means.
3. “She does have a very nice figure…If Ivanka weren’t my daughter, perhaps I would be dating her.” -The View, 2006
That’s a heck of a thing to say about your daughter, Donald. But I’m sure Jeffrey Epstein and Ghislane Maxwell could verify whether or not you had sexual relations by girls. “Some on the younger side.”
4. “I don’t know if you saw. Little things such as the cost of eggs-little to you, but big to the people out there. Down almost 30%, in the last, eh, few days.” Press conference March 2025.
Actually, prices of everything has continued to rise.
5. “I look at some of these agreements and I say, who would ever sign a thing like this. The tariffs will go forward, yes. We’ll make up a lot of territory. Our country will be liquid and rich again.”
Trump himself signed “those things.” Trump said this in reference to trade deals, specifically those with Mexico and Canada (NAFTA).
6. “These things don’t work, I’ve had them many times, and on occasion, they break, they explode. If something’s hot, they don’t last very long, like a matter of minutes, sometimes a matter of seconds. It’s a ridiculous situation.”
Referring to the dangers of plastic straws. I have used many of this same product. And not one time have they ever exploded.
8. “I never understood wind. You know, I know windmills very much. They’re noisy. They kill the birds. You want to see a bird graveyard? And they say the noise causes cancer.”
I will put going to see a bird graveyard on my bucket list. About the only place you would see this describe scenario is if an entire flock of birds flew into a shredder and they were then called “Shredded Tweet.”
10. “And then I see the disinfectant, where it knocks it out in a minute. One minute. And is there a way we can do something like that, by injection inside or almost a cleaning.”
Trump wondered aloud if injecting disinfectants could be a way to stop Covid. I can tell you that it would be the last time you would ever need to inject bleach.
11. “They start forming off the coast of Africa, as they’re moving across the Atlantic, we drop a bomb inside the eye of the hurricane, and it disrupts it. Why can’t we do that?”
“Put the nuclear codes down and step away from your position of power!”
There is one final blog that is left in this series. If you aren’t paying attention to current politics, you need to. And I’m not talking about immersing yourself in FOXNEWS. Look at more than one source and educate yourself about the horrors that are going on within our country. We are in unprecedented times that I never thought that I would witness. And our very precious and admirable democracy is at stake.
Affirmation: I resolve to seek validation from myself and like-minded individuals, not from those who have harmed me.
This Puzzled Life 