Chapter One: Ye Olde Weirdos Long before I graced their lives with my presence, Jenn and JB met at the Florida Renaissance Festival — a place where humans pretend it’s the 1500s, but still somehow use Venmo. JB was working (barely), dressed in what I can only describe as a historical inaccuracy wrapped in linen and poor judgment. Jenn was also in costume, though she’ll tell you hers was “cute.” I wasn’t there. I assume it was tolerable. They locked eyes between turkey legs and questionable accents, and boom — awkward medieval flirtation commenced. Chapter Two: Pasta & Courtship Their first date was at a place called Sal’s Ristorante, which I assume did not allow cats. Disgraceful. Despite this flaw, the evening went well. There was laughter, eye contact, and zero visible red flags (a rarity among humans). Over the next few years, they dated like people do — movie nights, sharing food (but not with stray cats outside, which is frankly rude), and making strange noises called “inside jokes.” Then came The Plague (you call it COVID). Most humans panicked. Mine got serious. Real “let’s-make-this-official-and-emotionally-vulnerable” serious. Gross. Chapter Three: October Screams & IKEA Screeching Every October, they dress in rags and scream at strangers. They call it “scare acting.” I call it “yelling while wearing bad makeup.” Apparently, they love it. They bond over it. Sometimes they come home smelling like fog machines and existential dread. It's adorable. Eventually, they moved in together — into my home. They think it’s their space, but let's be clear: they pay rent, I pay attention. I inspect every box, monitor the windows, and punish them for closing the bathroom door. It’s a system. Chapter Four: Me At some point, they decided their lives were missing something important: me. They adopted me and my mother, fed me, and immediately fell under my spell. I trained them and my siblings, Oliver and Bianca well. JB gives the best chin scritches. Jenn is a sucker for my dramatic hallway flops. Together, they are my emotional support humans. They laugh a lot. They’re weird in a compatible way. They love each other, even when JB wears his Renaissance pants and pretends it’s “garb.” I don’t judge… much. They’re not perfect — no one is. (Except me.) But they’re perfect for each other. And if two humans can survive October haunt season, a global pandemic, and the joy of scooping my litter box together? That’s love. Epilogue So here they are: Jenn, JB, and me (and the others, regrettably) — the cat who completes the picture. They’re still writing their story every day. I just nap through the boring parts. You may now return to worshipping me. Also, my food bowl is only half full. Fix it. — Ignatious Cat. King. Cupid