Stray Cat Chronicles. The Prequel and the Sequel

January 8, 2016



I hate the taste of venom in my mouth.
When I get so angry the bile rises in my throat.
Burning and choking. No choice but to purge.
No better place than here, no better time than now*.

I haven’t been back to work since the fight. Been resting, recharging. Healing in salt water.

Much needed gathering of strength.

I was getting smashy and stabby.

(Because you fucking are)

I am. I admit it. I have a rage that lives in me, I do. I know she’s there. I tip my hat to her when she comes out swiftly with almost no warning. And I let her do her thing.

She only comes out when necessary.

This is necessary.

Fucking stray cat. The one that runs into burning buildings. Laughing and watching while the ones that try to save her get burned. Then purring and trying to play cute like nothing happened.

I am the keeper of the archives.
I played this game for 7 years with ex hubby, who was waaaaaaaaaaaaaay fucking smarter than you, as am I. I learned from the master.

I know what you did, I saw it. Not on my watch honey.

There exists in her a disconnect that I cannot fathom.

She is whatever the female equivalent of a fuckboi is.

Not a slut, sluts are my people and that is not a bad word in my world.
I like fuckbois too. They have a purpose and I have spent years building up an immunity.
They need love too. Everyone does.
Even her.
I snarled when I wrote that.

The “fuck shit up and leave” credo that exists amongst the fuckbois exists in her too.

Retreating to a safe distance then coming back and taking no responsibility.

I suppose this is how her life goes. She has been dating an addict for a decade. He has a habit of stealing the rent money and disappearing for a week to feed the monkey on his back. He wanders home, makes minimal amends and the cycle continues.


I met him years ago, during a lucid period (for him, not me, I was far from lucid). There is nothing more dangerous than a beautiful junkie. Especially to someone like me with a Mother Teresa complex.

We fooled around for a bit, plans always falling apart at the last minute. He came at me with a half-truth. His brother had been murdered and he was addicted to OxyContin. Told me I was too good for him as is. Said he wasn’t worthy of me. Asked me to wait for him while he got clean.

I did something totally out of character for me and said ‘no. I won’t’. Said if I saw him on the other side, we would see. God bless my self-preservation, it was infantile then, I am so much stronger now.

He went back to her and the cycle continued. I didn’t want him after that. Not my circus not my monkeys. Bullet dodged till I got sucked in again.

2 years later he rolled into work raging one afternoon. He said she had been prostituting herself and brought disease into his house. He was a wrecking ball, swinging all over the bar, ranting and raving. Coming down off something, no sleep for days. Smashy. I got her out the backdoor and gave him money for a hotel room to sleep it off. Kept the mess contained.

This is what I do.

She came at me in the smoking pit a week later.

She tried to bark at me with some ‘hoes before bros’ bullshit. I told her she ought to be thanking me for keeping the two of them safe when it wasn’t my business nor my fucking problem.

She ended up saying thank you.

I started working nights. Made peace with her. Had to.

Friends even.

When he stole the rent money again, we rallied. The boss loaned her cash for her licence renewal. I gave her a bed and some clothes. Let her wake me up at 8am and ramble. Realized nothing I said was getting through, but I tried. Soldier gave her his number for emergencies. Manager gave her a ride to work and breakfast.

Fingers crossed we were breaking the cycle, went out of our way to be kind.


She doesn’t love herself and thereby cannot love or be loved. She has no self-respect and a blatant disrespect for others.

She started slinging shit and insults and throwing fists at all of us who tried to help. I know a lot of it came from him, parroted out of her mush mouth, her getting wasted trying to deal. Junkie-boy was terrified we were taking his bank card away.  For a minute there she saw love, light and compassion and promptly snuffed it out herself. That has got to hurt.

You know what else is gonna hurt?

The details of what happened between him and I before were undisclosed. Until now. The things I don’t say hold power too there sweet tart. How do you like them apples? 10 years with you and he just keeps using. 10 days with me and he wanted to get clean.

I am a good woman.

My soldier is a good man.

She sees this and doesn’t get it. Gets smashy at what she doesn’t understand.

It hit me.

She’s the exact same as her addict boyfriend. Fuck shit up, bat your lashes and get forgiven.

She has lived without consequences.

Here they fucking are.

She had the audacity to ask Soldier if they were still friends.

He asked me what to say. Typos telling me his hands were shaking.

I said

Tell her friends don’t accuse friends of rape.
Tell her friends don’t hit friends.
Friends listen when you say you are spoken for.
Friends don’t blow up phones with drunken slurs at all hours after being asked to stop.
Friends don’t grab their friend’s balls and call them names.
Tell her you are her friend, but she isn’t yours. She doesn’t know how to be.

He doesn’t need the apology. He’s above and beyond such things.

This is how we deal.

Lead by example. This is what self-respect looks like. This is what love looks like.

Soldier keeps reminding me no one gets left behind. I have to acquiesce, it’s bred in my bones too. Fuck.

There’s rules here.
She doesn’t get left behind, but that means I can drag her kicking and screaming by her hair.
Or she can stand up and walk with the big kids.
Her choice.

My vote is drag, still angry.


(*Rage Against the Machine)
















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  • Anonymous February 4, 2016 at 9:46 am

    Fucking beautiful

    • sexloveandgrace February 4, 2016 at 11:42 am

      i wouldn’t call it that at all

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