Cat?
I’m navigating depression right now, and honestly, it’s been one of the hardest stretches I’ve faced. The weight of it sits with me most days—the heaviness, the isolation, the feeling that nothing quite connects the way it used to. But then I visit my family, and something shifts. They have a cat, and spending time with that animal has become something I genuinely look forward to.
There’s no judgment there. No expectations. Just presence. And I’ve realized something that might sound strange, but it’s true: I miss that cat more than I miss seeing people I love. I miss it more than I miss my own kids sometimes, and that admission costs me something to say out loud. But here’s the thing—when you’re depressed, when you’re isolated, when you feel like you’re failing at everything, a cat doesn’t care about any of that. It just exists with you. It asks for food and affection on its own terms, and somehow that simplicity is everything.
I think what I’m trying to say is that depression lies to you. It tells you that nothing matters, that you’re alone, that connection is impossible. But then you sit with a cat and you feel seen in a way that doesn’t require words or effort or pretense. And suddenly you realize you’re not as broken as you thought. You’re just human, struggling, reaching for whatever brings you back to life. For me, right now, that’s a cat. And I’m grateful for it.