Reposted from Facebook, by request. - The Management.

Apologies for the poor quality photo - my phone's camera is nothing fancy. But this is Loki - a sorta-rescue I've had for about a year, who I don't generally bomb the internet with pictures of, because you're going to hear enough about him if you talk to me in person. But here's the deal - he's plenty affectionate, but the little [big] dude is not a lap cat, and his personality honestly leans closer to mine than I'd like to admit sometimes, meaning he's kind of self-interested little ass, even for a cat, and I kind of dig that about him.

Anyway, story time. I've suffered from panic attacks for a good [right] long time, and though medication has pretty much knocked them out of me, one still manages to sneak through and ruin a night or two here and there every now and then. And look, I am not one of those "healing powers of animals" types - I'm not going to profess swimming with dolphins cures cancer, or having a dog is going to make you not want to kill yourself. And I'm under no delusions that as much affection Loki and I show each other on a regular basis, he'd eat my eyeballs if I died in my sleep [which I am strangely ok with].

But last night, when my mind was racing and my skin was crawling and my bones were burning, Loki curled up in my lap without a single prompt and sat there until all the fear and loathing abated. No clue how he knew, not all that interested in questioning it.

Just a reminder - if you can take in an unwanted pet, you should. You don't need to start with them as infants or kittens or whatever to make a worthwhile connection.