After nine months of hiatus and letting this blog float in cyber purgatory, I am back. First because I am awake now that September has ended #ObligatoryMemeingDadJoke, second BECAUSE IT’S HALLOWEEN, AKA THE MOST WONDERFUL TIME OF THE YEAR (at least for me, because I get to have an excuse to stock up my makeup stash and flaunt my weirdness without being judged!)

Last year, I had five different Halloween looks (plus this) so I am reaaally wishing and hoping that I can at least be as productive as last year, if I can’t afford to be #extra and do seven.

So what have I been up to anyway?

I wish I can blame the BGC cats but nope, I haven’t contributed new content for cobgc for three months now (props to my fellow Titas for picking up the slack!). I wish I can say that I’ve been snorting cocaine served in gold platters thanks to myriads of high-paying, after-work freelance jobs. I wish I can say that I’ve finally surpassed my 16km night run of last year. I wish I can say that I’ve just been busy adorning my Rihanna forehead with contour powder and facepaint.

But nope.

Rather, the past few months was simply me doing a Rihanna (complete with getting treated for anemia, crazy period cycle and hormonal imbalance that made me look thiccer). Hey, it’s what pays the bills…and it’s what allows me to spoil the love of my life, the one I never imagined having nine months ago:

This clingy, insect-catching, toy-fetching, psychotic alarm clock. Yes, I’ve been crazy for cats since I was a kid, but this is my first time (as a lone city dweller who can no longer rely on her grandpa to care for the stray kittens she found on her way home) to actually own one—first because she had me at MEOOWWWWRRRUH? Second, I was an overthinking commitmentphobe (Who will care for her if I’m on vacation? What if I migrate and get a new job abroad?!) who values #ResponsiblePetOwnership, the same way I value marriage or motherhood or the last piece of pizza when I’m finally full but I have to go home—I don’t have the heart to dump or give her away or just ragequit when the going gets tough. Third, I admit it–turning 31 has made me develop that fuzzy feeling that pushes you to give a damn about something…and for me, that something better be a freakin cat because I am not yet ready to squeeze out a mini-me.

Her name is Sandra because she used to be a stray kitten that was abandoned in Serendra. THANK JEEBUS her foster mum chose Sandra becaaaaause speaaaaaking of Serendra and the horrors of Halloween, nah I’ll leave it for my next blog post—which I will write after this, at least after I finish cracking my knuckles and sharpening my stake. 😉