Domestically Feral

What happens when everything you've been taught about the end of the world suddenly stops making sense? Several years ago, I found myself terrified for my three-year-old daughter's future. I'd grown up believing in the rapture, the tribulation, and the coming destruction of the earth. But when I began questioning those teachings, I was left with a frightening thought: What if we weren&...

My brand-new husband went out of town for one night. I went to a casino, accidentally retired undefeated at blackjack, and left with fifteen hundred dollars in my pockets after a drunk friend whispered, “Run.” Nothing illegal happened. Which, unfortunately, is exactly what guilty people say.

In 2011, my husband and I were flying home from our Disney World honeymoon when he spotted someone at the Orlando airport who made him completely lose his composure. Sir Patrick Stewart. Captain Jean-Luc Picard himself. As a lifelong  Star Trek: The Next Generation  fan, Dave was starstruck. I, his brand-new bride, was considerably less impressed. What followed was an entire flight spent watching...

After months of pouncing, counter trespassing, toilet paper crimes, emotional manipulation, and psychological warfare against Mr. Darcy, I regret to inform you that Edgar Allan Purr has become useful. He patrols the kitchen floorboards. He supervises the coffee bar. He may or may not be eating spiders beneath the cabinets, and frankly, I have chosen not to ask questions. This week on  Domestically...

After following a trail of mysterious clues through a family cabin in Tennessee, Dave and I have finally found what we believe is a long-lost family treasure. There's just one problem. The treasure is wrapped in a filthy pillowcase, something about it doesn't add up, and Dave has been behaving suspiciously all weekend. In the final installment of our anniversary special, the truth finally...

Dave has found a clue. Not just any clue, either. This one is written in purple crayon, bears a family crest, and appears to be connected to a long-lost treasure that nobody in his family seems to believe actually exists. Naturally, we have to investigate. In Part Two of our anniversary special, an innocent birthday getaway turns into a full-blown treasure hunt involving riddles, old family storie...

Fifteen years ago, Dave spent months planning an elaborate deception, and I missed every single warning sign. What started as a birthday trip to a family cabin in Tennessee somehow involved an old family treasure, suspicious squirrels, a shovel, clues written in purple crayon, and a rather questionable pillowcase. And me? I was completely oblivious. In Part One of this special anniversary story, I...

Some people are born with quick wit. I was apparently issued delayed processing, insomnia comebacks, and one emergency cannon I did not know I had. This week on  Domestically Feral : poker, porch swings, chauvinistic kitchen comments, and the one miraculous night my brain delivered the perfect sentence at the exact right moment.

I tried to take one small, biblically defensible nap. Edgar attacked my feet, boarded the bed like a pirate, and somehow got himself halfway inside the box spring. This week on  Domestically Feral : rest is attempted, chaos is deployed, and management definitely has whiskers.

Season 2 begins with Dracula chicken, Don Knotts, tiny ceramic skeleton drama, and one firm boundary: Satan does not own October. If your conscience tells you to skip Halloween, skip it. Truly. I am not here to drag anyone through a pumpkin patch against their will. But my pumpkins are not a gateway drug to the underworld. My decorative skeletons are not a theological crisis. And I refuse to surre...

Fall has been declared. Hallowtide has begun. Edgar Allan Purr is turning one, Mr. Darcy is still reporting for evening lap duty, and somewhere in this house a chocolate cat is doing something I will absolutely have to clean up later. Season Two of  Domestically Feral  is here — clean, family-friendly, faith-shaped, cat-haunted, coffee-adjacent, and slightly unhinged. Welcome back to the house whe...

Somehow, a series of completely normal decisions has led to me being invited by actual researchers to help find extremely elusive female lightning bugs. I have no degree, no credentials, and no reasonable explanation for this. I am a housewife with coffee, a butterfly net, and apparently just enough stubbornness to stand outside in the dark longer than is socially acceptable. This is the story of...

We have officially had Edgar for 100 days. In that time, he has become sleeker, bolder, louder, less humble, and significantly more convinced that household rules are merely decorative. This episode is the 100-day report on Edgar Allan Purr: emotional support kitty, domestic menace, tiny tyrant, and the reason I have no one to blame but myself.

Boof would like to know why Edgar is allowed to tear through the house like a tiny chocolate criminal while she gets fussed at for doing the same thing. Unfortunately for Boof, there is one key difference: Edgar is a cat, and Boof is a poorly designed missile powered by impulse and the infamous Aussie butt wiggle. This episode is about unfair house rules, questionable dog physics, collateral damag...

My husband brought home another cat. Not a real cat. A porcelain one. With eyeliner, a judgmental frown, missing toes, and two haunted little gremlin kittens. So naturally, this episode involves storage room “treasures,” clutter warfare, a violated craft drawer, and Edgar meeting what may be the most offensive representation of catkind ever placed on our hearth.

Edgar has entered his predator era, and unfortunately, he has started thinking bigger. After catching lizards and collecting household trophies, he managed to slip through a front door that had not latched properly and sample the great outdoors. This episode involves panic, a falsely accused child, one fluffy chocolate fool on the porch, and the reminder that coyotes are not an acceptable characte...

Edgar has entered his hunter-gatherer era. He is stalking feet, eating beetles, stealing household objects, scattering evidence on the stairs, and dragging stuffed dragons across the floor like a warrior returning from battle. Unfortunately for him, he is still a baby with marshmallow paws who requires Mama snuggles twice a day.

After two weeks of logistics, schoolwork, errands, cat management, dentist appointments, groceries, firefly research planning, and one deeply unhelpful counterfeit-money joke at the bank, I would simply like credit for not having a meltdown. A ribbon would be acceptable. A cookie would also work.

My ninety-year-old grandmother broke her back trimming bushes and didn't find out for a month. That's just the warm-up. This one's about toughness, love, and a woman who doesn't go down easy — even when everyone around her was starting to worry she might. "Comfortable Mystery" Kevin MacLeod (incompetech.com) Licensed under Creative Commons: By Attribution 4.0 License http...

Edgar has entered his full criminal toddler phase. No table is safe, no surface is sacred, and no amount of drool can apparently stop him from staring at me like I’m the greatest thing that has ever happened to him. Unfortunately, this is exactly how he keeps getting away with everything.

Mr. Darcy is seventeen, which means he has been in charge of my life for a little over sixteen years. In this episode, I talk about the sweet, regal, deeply spoiled old man who has been with me through illness, pregnancy, chaos, lap appointments, and more emotional moments than I can count. His health has gotten more complicated lately, and we’re trying to keep him comfortable for as long as we ca...

Edgar continues his campaign against this household with a series of increasingly unhinged offenses, including tribute offerings, targeted attacks on inanimate objects, and an incident involving a lizard that nearly escalated. He is a menace to society. And then he climbs into my lap, goes completely limp, drools everywhere, and acts like I am the greatest thing that has ever happened to him. It’s...

We came home from the alleged vacation braced for disaster. There wasn’t one. No one had died. Nothing had exploded. The pet sitter survived. Boof lost her mind, Mr. Darcy remained professionally unimpressed, and Edgar… apparently took comfort in the dog. Then Mama sat down. What followed was purring, drooling, emotional damages, one contested blanket, and a fragile peace treaty between two cats w...

I spent most of the day worried about Mr. Darcy. And then Edgar chose violence. What followed included an aerial attack on the dog, a covert operation inside the couch, and a betrayal I was not emotionally prepared for. Somewhere in the middle of all that, I realized we are no longer a household. We are a situation.

Vacation promised rest. Instead, I got waves, sand, logistics, and the haunting realization that “relaxing family trip” is mostly just regular life in a swimsuit.