The diary of almost everything

Some people have children.
I have two bald cats.

And before you ask – yes, on purpose.

When I was younger, I brought home wounded birds, named spiders (“Harry,” R.I.P.), and built ramps for frogs that mostly worked as swimming pools for our dachshund. Taking care of animals was my default setting. If something breathed, I wanted to make sure it survived.

Fast forward: I grew up, I got my own place, I had a full-time job. Dogs were out of the question. Regular cats shed hair. And then, enter Crinkle and Wrinkle, my two Sphynx cats. Hairless, slightly alien-looking, and entirely mine.

At first, I thought: what have I done? They looked like wrinkled peaches with legs. But within days, they had me. Completely. They became my housemates, my comedians, my companions who nap on my chest like they pay rent in warmth.

Now they’re nine, which makes me nervous sometimes. Because pets don’t live forever, and the thought of losing them makes my stomach twist. I want them to live until at least eighteen. Longer, if we can negotiate that with the universe.

But here’s the thing: they’re consistent. They love without conditions. They sense when I’m sad, when someone has disappointed me, when I’m replaying conversations in my head that I know won’t come back. And instead of ghosting me, or spinning excuses, or doing a 180 because they suddenly got “busy,” they just… stay. They climb into my lap. They purr like a badly tuned engine. They make me laugh at the exact moment I think I can’t.

People say pets aren’t like people. But maybe that’s the point. People can change the rules mid-game. Cats don’t (unless they are playing). You know where you stand with them.

And honestly? That’s what I need.
Not constant surprises. Not fragile promises. Just two cats with names that sound like cartoon villains and hearts big enough to remind me that loyalty doesn’t have to be complicated.

Crinkle and Wrinkle.
My greatest love stories.

– Sophie Quinn