I baptism into documenting life. I was certainly a novice. It’s the beginning of a journey that started in May 2001 with a pair of siblings named PB and Jelly. Back then, I was young with a great career, but I knew nothing about cats—they ended up being my greatest teachers.

I rearranged my entire life to be the best 'daddy' I could be. When PB got sick, nursing him created a bond that reached deep inside my soul. Meanwhile, a healthy Jelly became the 'beta' of the house, and her jealousy added a whole new dynamic to our lives. These are the stories of how they rescued me and how we lived life day-to-day. This is just the start of many more stories and cats to come

In December 2007, I moved to a townhouse in Canal Winchester. The patio screen door acted like a magnet for neighborhood cats, and naturally, I welcomed them in. That’s how Cheeto, a retired feral female, and Big Fella, a super-friendly male, joined the family.

The transition was a challenge—especially with the rising vet bills—but the dynamic was fascinating. Cheeto wasn’t fond of being inside; she definitely wasn't the "lap cat" type. She kept her wilder, independent edge while Big Fella brought his own big personality to the mix. Integrating these two with PB and Jelly was a whole new chapter in my life as a cat daddy.

I never truly knew his origin.

It wasn’t exactly a formal introduction—

Little Guy didn’t ask for permission; he just started stealing Cheeto’s food.

I just assumed he was a stray who chose us. Little Guy was a complete mystery, a wild spirit who didn't seem to belong to anyone until he claimed our home.

Despite his unknown past, he managed to take over our lives entirely. Between his roof-climbing stunts and that heart-wrenching month where he vanished, he became the center of my world. Even Big Fella took him under his wing, treating him like a subordinate to "train" in the ways of the house. Little Guy didn't just move in; he dictated our schedules, our work, and even where we lived for years to come.

Resuming from my time in Canal Winchester, moving to this house felt like a gift from God. I finally had the space

Little Guy and Big Fella needed to explore, far away from the noise of the suburbs. While the boys loved the new freedom, Cheeto struggled to find her footing in the change.

I thought I was finally done being a "cat magnet," but within the first month, two more appeared—literally knocking to come in. One night in the dark, a long-haired yearling female brushed past my legs with a friend in tow. Both were still intact, forcing me to act fast. Truthfully, I wasn’t financially prepared for any more vet bills, but somehow, I found a way to make it work.

It turns out BK, that long-haired yearling, was the missing piece to the puzzle. She became the companion Little Guy had never had, and seeing them together was incredible. With her by his side, Little Guy blossomed into an entirely new cat, his mischievous spirit finding a perfect match in her.

Despite the financial strain and the suddenness of it all, seeing that bond form made every sacrifice worth it. The country house wasn't just a shelter anymore; it was a home where even the most restless souls finally found their place.

That first summer in the new house was a scorcher. Despite the heat, the household was actually fairly well-behaved—until a coworker called with a plea for help. There was an emaciated gray cat trapped under a loading dock at work, and even though I was on

staycation, I couldn't say no.

We named her Minnie—a play on "Skinny"—and brought her home to foster. She was perfectly happy with her new indoor life, but she absolutely refused to get along with anyone else. The house turned into a battlefield. Between the constant fights and the resulting vet trips for the other cats, I finally reached my breaking point with her.

But then, a tragic event shifted everything. Just as the tension with Minnie reached its peak, we faced our first devastating loss—the very first death. Losing one changed me and reframed how I felt about the chaos Minnie was causing. In the shadow of that grief, the fighting didn't seem to matter as much anymore.

A tragic loss opened the door for

Sam, another rescue from the airport. That harsh winter, I made a promise to that kid that I’d come back for him, and I kept it. However, his initial blood tests posed a potential threat to the others, depending on his aggression level. I worked with him for months, keeping him in a kind of "monitored freedom"—separated from the pack but still moving between the indoors and out.

Meanwhile, Minnie had finally turned a corner. She settled in and stopped being such a bitch to everyone, which was a massive relief since Sam was already a handful. Sam had a personality like no other; he was a "self-made man"—cautious, cunning, and always marching to the beat of his own drum. I knew even Big Fella wouldn't have any luck bossing him around.

But as Sam integrated, a new mystery began to haunt the house. Something was creeping around at night, leaving a distinct scent that stirred up the entire clowder. We already had an extended outdoor family of raccoons, possums, and skunks, but this felt different. Something—or someone—new was watching us from the shadows.

Floppy Ear

was a ghost—a phantom glimpsed for a few seconds before vanishing back into the shadows. It wasn't until a massive storm hit that he finally surfaced, begging for help. But just as we began the work of repairing him, he disappeared again, leaving me with nothing but questions. I spent that spring and summer scanning the landscape, hoping for a glimpse of him so I could treat his obvious malnutrition and physical deformities.

In his absence, life at the country house hummed along. We spent our days outdoors, getting to know Sam and his unique rhythm, while watching the inseparable bond between Little Guy and BK flourish. For the first time, the whole pack had a safe piece of the world to call their own.

But beneath the surface, a storm of a different kind was brewing. My job—the very thing that provided this sanctuary—was in jeopardy. The company was downscaling and failing miserably. I was terrified: if I lost my job, how would I ever keep the promises I made to these cats?

Timeline: Jan-Dec 2012

That year was like a giant, tangled ball of yarn, and this video is the story of how it all unraveled. It kicks off in December with the crushing heartbreak of losing a 16-year career, leaving me a total headcase scrambling to pay rent, buy food, and cover massive vet bills for my big fur family. In a desperate bid to turn things around, I enrolled in college. But that move abruptly killed my unemployment benefits, leaving me completely broke and forced into a frantic hustle for freelance work.  Sam, the FIV-positive cat who finally gained his freedom and stepped into the main house after a long year of isolation from our other seven felines. Then,Vinny—a true feline nomad—reappeared out of thin air after eight months away, creating a story where the love, stress, and noise just kept building.

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coming soon