story telling with humor

darnold1975

My Cat Tried to Call the Therapy Coach and Now We’re in a Full‑Blown Feline Intervention

“My system handles trauma like professionals. But the cats handle drama like they’re auditioning for a reality show called Real Housewives of the Litter Box.”

-This Puzzled Life

Light the charcoal. Sprinkle the sage. Secure the breakables. Today’s episode of This Puzzled Life features a full‑blown feline committee meeting after Piper, chaos in fur form, announced that she “might have Dissociative Identity Disorder.”

I have Dissociative Identity Disorder. Piper, however, is simply dramatic. And Tinkerbell and Coco are done with her antics. Welcome back where the sage is burning. The humidity is disrespectful. And the cats are holding more meetings than a Mississippi school board.

This morning started like any other. I was minding my business. Drinking my coffee. And trying to keep my nervous system from filing a complaint with HR. When Piper strutted into the room and announced that she “might have Dissociative Identity Disorder.” Before I could even blink, she was paw‑dialing my therapy coach like she had Blue Cross Blue Shield and a co‑pay. And that’s when Tinkerbell and Coco called an emergency meeting. Because apparently, in this house, I’m not the only one with a system. I’m just the only one with a diagnosis.

Tinkerbell climbed onto the arm of the couch like she was chairing a Mississippi church committee.

Tinkerbell: “This meeting will now come to order. Piper has made a claim. A bold one.”

Piper: “Ok. Well, there is no easy way to say this. I have DID.”

Tinkerbell: “Piper, having nine lives is not the same thing as having nine personalities. Stop confusing reincarnation with psychology.”

Coco: “Yeah, girl. Nine lives just means you make nine bad decisions. Not that you need nine therapists.”

Piper gasps, fluffs up, dramatic tail twitch

Piper:  “Wow! So, nobody believes me? Nobody supports my journey? I’m being silenced. This is oppression. I’m calling coach right now!”

Coco: “You can’t even remember where you left your toy mouse. Sit down.”

Piper: “I am a complex being with layers!”

Tinkerbell: “You’re a lasagna with fur. Calm down.”

Coco flicked her tail like she was swatting away generational trauma.

Coco: “She doesn’t have DID. She has Too Much Drama Disorder.”

Piper, sprawled across a pillow like a Victorian widow, sighed dramatically.

Piper: “Sometimes I feel like different versions of me.”

Tinkerbell blinked slowly. The kind of blink that says, Lord, give me strength.

Piper sat up, whiskers trembling with self‑importance.

Piper: “Sometimes I’m sweet. Sometimes I’m spicy. Sometimes I’m feral. That’s at least three personalities.”

Coco rolled her eyes so hard she almost saw her past lives.

According to Piper, and only Piper, she “dissociates” at least three times a day. To everyone else in the house, she simply forgets what she’s doing because she’s Piper.

This morning, she was walking toward her food bowl with purpose, confidence, and the swagger of a cat who believes she pays rent. Halfway there, she froze. Stared into the void. And blinked like she’d just been unplugged and rebooted.

Tinkerbell watched her with the patience of a grandmother who’s seen too much.

Tinkerbell: “She’s not dissociating. She’s buffering.”

Coco flicked her tail

Coco: “That’s not a switch. That’s a brain fart.”

But Piper insisted.

Piper: “I think I dissociated. I forgot what I was doing.”

Tinkerbell sighed

Tinkerbell: “Sweetheart, you forget what you’re doing because you have the attention span of a dust bunny.”

Coco: “If staring at the wall counts as dissociating, then every cat on Earth needs a therapist.”

Piper, unbothered, continued staring into the middle distance like she was receiving messages from the universe.

Piper: “I just drifted away.”

Tinkerbell: “You drifted because you saw a dust particle and got confused.”

Coco: “You’re not dissociating. You’re daydreaming with commitment.”

Coco: “That’s called being a cat.”

Tinkerbell nodded

Tinkerbell: “You’re not special, darling. You’re just enthusiastic.”

Piper gasped like someone insulted her casserole at a church potluck.

Piper: “So you’re saying I’m dramatic?”

Coco: “I’m saying you’re Piper.”

This is where things went off the rails. Piper marched over to my phone. Tapped the screen with her paw, and said,

Piper: “I’m calling our therapy coach. I need a professional opinion.”

Tinkerbell nearly fell off the couch.

Tinkerbell: “Absolutely not. You are not dragging a licensed human into your nonsense.”

Coco leapt forward like she was blocking a football pass.

Coco: “Put the phone down. You don’t even know the passcode.”

Piper: “I know it’s numbers.”

Tinkerbell: “That is not enough.”

Piper: “I just want to ask if I have DID.”

Coco: “You don’t even have object permanence.”

Tinkerbell gestured toward me like she was presenting a case study.

Tinkerbell: “Our mom has DID. That’s a real thing. A trauma thing. A serious thing.”

Coco nodded, suddenly solemn

Coco: “She’s strong. She’s healing. She’s doing the work. You, on the other hand, tried to eat a rubber band yesterday.”

Piper: “It looked like a noodle.”

Tinkerbell: “It was not a noodle.”

Coco: “You’re not dissociating. You’re just unsupervised.”

Tinkerbell cleared her throat like a judge delivering a sentence

Tinkerbell: “Piper does not have DID. What she does have is excessive enthusiasm, poor impulse control, a flair for the dramatic, and a mother who spoils her.

Coco: “Case closed. Someone bring snacks.”

Piper: “I still think I should call the therapy coach.”

Tinkerbell: “If you touch that phone again, I’m calling Jesus.”

And as we wrap up this episode of Cats Who Need Supervision, I’ve realized something important. Living with DID is complex, sacred, and deeply human. But living with these cats is a full‑time job with no benefits and no union representation.

Some days my system is grounded and organized. Other days it’s buffering like a Dollar Tree Wi‑Fi router in a thunderstorm. And meanwhile, Piper is over here diagnosing herself with conditions she found on TikTok. Tinkerbell is exhausted. Coco is judging everyone. And Piper is still trying to call the therapy coach.

To all of us I wish healing, much laughter, surviving, and keeping the phone away from the cat who thinks she needs a treatment plan. And Piper? She’s grounded from the phone until further notice. Thanks for reading! Hug a cat if they let you.

Affirmation: Every part of you is powerful and worthy. And Piper, in all her chaotic glory, fully supports your healing while acting like she’s the self‑appointed spokesperson for your system.

***Don’t forget to watch the video!***

#ThisPuzzledLife

darnold1975

DID Awareness Month: Many Voices, One Whole Self

“My brain runs like a full‑time committee meeting, and the cats still think they’re the ones in charge.”

-This Puzzled Life

 Light the charcoal. Sprinkle the sage. Negative energy go away. Today’s blog is about Dissociative Identity Disorder. And three cats who have absolutely no business being professionally involved. But who insist on participating like they’re on salary.

Welcome to another episode of “My Life Is a Sitcom and Nobody Warned Me.” Secure your wigs. Because today we’re diving into DID Awareness also known as “Me, Myself, and the Entire Internal Group Chat.” 

Living with DID means my brain runs like a committee meeting that could’ve been an email. And my cats act like they’re the board of directors.

Tinkerbell: “Your system is more organized than Congress.”

Coco: “At least y’all communicate.”

Piper: “If your brain ever needs a new member, I’m available.”

Me: “Piper, sweetheart, this is not American Idol: Internal System Edition.”

But here we are. Me, my parts, my healing journey, and three cats who think they’re licensed clinicians. And they are ready to bring some humor, honesty, and a little Southern seasoning to DID Awareness Month. Strap in. It’s about to get educational, emotional, and unnecessarily funny.

DID is one of those topics people whisper about like it’s a scandal, a secret, or the recipe for Coca‑Cola. But in this house? We talk about it openly, honestly, and with the kind of humor that keeps us from spontaneously combusting into a pile of stress glitter.

I have DID. Not “movie DID.” Not “Hollywood horror plot DID.” Actual, clinical, trauma‑born DID. It’s the kind that forms when a child survives more than any child ever should. And let me tell you, the cats have notes.

Tinkerbell (the wise elder): “Mom has a whole internal board of directors. I respect that. Some of y’all can’t even manage one mood.”

Coco (the judgmental aunt): “Honestly, the system is more organized than half the humans I’ve met. At least they communicate.”

Piper (chaos incarnate): “Do you think they’d let me join? I have ideas.”

Me: “Piper, this is not a talent show. This is a mental health condition.”

DID isn’t scary. It isn’t dangerous. It isn’t whatever nonsense Hollywood keeps trying to sell. It is a trauma response. A survival strategy. A brilliant adaptation. And a system built to protect a child who deserved safety. My system isn’t broken. It’s creative. It’s resilient. It’s the reason I’m still here. And the cats? They act like they’ve known every part since birth.

Tinkerbell: “Oh, this one likes soft blankets. Bring her the good one.” 

Coco: “This one needs boundaries. I’ll supervise.” 

Piper: “This one lets me climb the curtains.”

How does DID manifest? It is switching when overwhelmed and losing time. It’s different parts having different needs and internal conversations. It’s healing in layers. And learning to work as a team. It also looks like me drinking water because one part insists. Me resting because another refuses to push through. Me laughing because someone inside cracked a joke. And me healing because we’re doing this together. And the cats? They think they’re helping.

Coco: “I’m providing emotional support.” 

Piper: “I’m providing chaos.” 

Tinkerbell: “I’m providing supervision because these children need guidance.”

People with DID aren’t fragile. We aren’t dangerous. We aren’t confused. We aren’t “making it up.” We’re survivors. We’re complex. We’re healing. We’re doing the work. And we deserve understanding, not fear. Compassion, not judgment. Support, not silence.

Tinkerbell: “Respect the system. It’s doing its best.” 

Coco: “Awareness is important. Also, snacks.”

Piper: “If your brain ever needs a new member, I’m available.”

Me: “Piper, absolutely not.”

And as we wrap up this little journey through DID Awareness Month, complete with sage smoke, hydration, internal committee meetings, and three cats who are my emotional support staff .

DID is basically like trying to reboot a Wi‑Fi router from 2007. While the cats are batting the cords. The universe is buffering. And one part is whispering, “Have you tried turning it off and back on again?”

Some days I’m gliding through life like a well‑oiled machine. Other days I’m switching, grounding, journaling, and negotiating with my nervous system like it’s a toddler who missed nap time. And occasionally, the whole system is like, “Ma’am, we were not built for this timeline.” Meanwhile, the cats are offering commentary like they’re on payroll.

Here’s to us choosing growth even when our brains are running on 3% battery. Choosing compassion even when our patience is on backorder. And choosing to keep going even when life feels like a Walmart parking lot at 2 a.m.

 And then strut into the rest of your life like a woman who has survived every plot twist. Including the ones that arrived unannounced, barefoot, and holding a casserole of chaos. Because you’re still here. You’re still growing. And honestly? You’re doing better than half the people who think “self‑care” means buying a succulent and ignoring their feelings. Healing is holy. Humor is medicine. And I am too stubborn. I am too supported by my internal team and these judgmental cats to give up now. Thanks for reading! Keep moving forward.

Affirmation: I honor every part of my system. The strong ones, the soft ones, the tired ones, and the healing ones. I move through this world with resilience, humor, and a whole internal team that refuses to give up on me. I am whole, worthy, supported, and doing beautifully, no matter who’s fronting or which cat thinks they’re in charge today.

***Don’t forget to watch the video!***

#ThisPuzzledLife

darnold1975

Things I Trust More Than This Administration

“I trust bad vibes, random coincidences, and my toaster more than this administration.”

-Unknown

 Light the charcoal. Sprinkle the sage. Negative energy go away. Today’s blog is not just a list. It’s a public service announcement. A spiritual awakening. And a petty masterpiece crafted by a woman who has seen too much, heard too much, and tripped in public too many times to stay silent.

I woke up this morning. Turned on the news. And immediately felt my soul pack a suitcase and whisper, “I’ll be at the Motel 6 if you need me.” Piper gasped like she was watching a telenovela. Coco clutched her imaginary pearls. Tinkerbell just sighed the sigh of a woman who has lived through 14 administrations and is spiritually moisturized enough to handle anything.

And that’s when I knew it was time. Time to document Things I Trust More Than the Current Administration. It’s a list so chaotic, so accurate, and so spiritually petty that even my ancestors leaned in like, “Go on, baby. Tell it.” So, grab your snacks, your beads, your emotional support beverage, and your sense of humor. This is about to get disrespectful in a healing way.

1. My flip‑flops.

Yes. It’s the same flip‑flops that tried to assassinate me in slow motion. The ones with the structural integrity of a soggy communion wafer. The ones that folded like a cheap lawn chair at a family reunion. Still more dependable.

Tinkerbell: “At least the flip‑flops don’t lie on television.”

2. Piper’s decision‑making skills.

This is the same creature who ate a sparkly Pride bandana. Who tried to flash her nonexistent cat boobs for beads. And who attempted to unionize against bedtime. And yet? I trust her more.

Piper: “I make bold choices. Not good ones. But bold.”

3. A gas station egg salad sandwich.

Expiration date: unknown. Smell: concerning. Texture: illegal. But at least it’s honest about the danger.

Coco: “It may kill you, but it won’t gaslight you.”

4. A toddler holding a permanent marker.

Will they draw on the wall or the dog or their own face? Yes. But at least you know chaos is coming.

5. A goose with a clipboard.

He’s honking. He’s chasing people. He’s eating paperwork. But he believes in his mission.

Piper: “That’s passion. I respect it.”

6. My own ability to walk in flip‑flops.

History says no. Physics says no. Gravity says “Absolutely No.” But I still trust myself more.

Coco: “Bold of you.”

7. The cats’ ability to behave in public.

They have caused a Mardi Gras incident. Stolen a praline. Gotten into a legal dispute with NOPD. And started a jazz band. And yet? More trustworthy.

8. A Walmart shopping cart with one broken wheel.

It squeaks. It veers left. It shakes like it’s possessed. But it’s trying its best.

9. A fortune cookie written by someone who was clearly drunk.

“Your future is… something.” Same, babe. Same.

10. Ebola

At least Ebola is upfront like, “I’m dangerous. Stay away.” No mixed messages. No confusion. Just pure, uncut honesty.

Tinkerbell: “Clarity is a love language.”

11. Jeffrey Dahmer’s dinner invitations

Not attending. Not RSVPing. Not even opening the envelope. But at least you KNOW what you’re getting into. There’s no mystery. No surprises. Just a firm, “No thank you, sir,” and a quick jog in the opposite direction.

Coco: “Predictability matters.”

12. Jim Jones’ Kool‑Aid recipe

Not drinking it. Not smelling it. Not being in the same ZIP code as it. But I trust that it will do exactly what it promises. No false advertising. No fine print. Just consequences.

Piper: “At least it’s consistent.”

13. COVID 1‑19

The actual virus. Because COVID shows up like, “Hey girl, I’m back.” And honestly? I respect the commitment to the bit. It’s the ex who keeps returning but at least texts first.

Tinkerbell: “Reliability is reliability, even when it’s terrible.”

14. A stomach virus

It doesn’t lie. It doesn’t pretend. It doesn’t gaslight you. It just shows up at 3 AM like, “Hope you didn’t have plans today.”

Coco: “At least it’s punctual.”

15. A fart when I have amoebic dysentery

This is the MOST untrustworthy thing on Earth. A gamble. A spiritual test. A moment where your soul leaves your body and watches from the ceiling. And yet, still more trustworthy.

Piper: “High‑risk, high‑reward.”

Tinkerbell: “Baby, that’s not a fart. That’s a prophecy.”

16. A gas station hotdog that’s been spinning since 2014

At least it hasn’t claimed to have a plan for the country.

17. My cats’ understanding of personal space

They don’t respects boundaries, much the administration. But they’re consistent about something.

18. A psychic named Debra who accepts Venmo

Makes promises you can verify immediately.

19. My phone’s autocorrect

Provides helpful suggestions, not false promises.

20. The voice in my head that says, “this is a bad idea.”

Offers accountability before the disaster.

And do you know what? None of them have access to nuclear codes.

And so, after reviewing flip‑flops with abandonment issues, geese with clipboards, and Piper’s ongoing feud with law enforcement, one truth remains. There are many things in this world more trustworthy than the current administration. And most of them should not be legally trusted at all. But here we are. Surviving. Thriving. Spiritually hydrated. Held together by snacks, sarcasm, and the emotional support of three cats who have never paid taxes but have very strong opinions.

Piper is already drafting her own State of the Union. Coco is fact‑checking it with a glass of imaginary wine. Tinkerbell is praying for all of us. As for me? I’m lighting the sage again. Because after this list, the energy in here needs a full exorcism. And remember, “If chaos is inevitable, at least make it funny.” Thanks for reading! Keep resisting.

Affirmation: “I move through this chaotic timeline with the resilience of a goose with a clipboard, and the unhinged optimism of someone who still trusts a fart during amoebic dysentery more than the people allegedly running the country.”

***Don’t forget to watch the video!***

#ThisPuzzledLife

darnold1975

The Feline State of the Union: We’re Doomed, Bring Snacks

“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.

***Don’t forget to watch the video!***

#ThisPuzzledLife