Mojo and the Mess

Hi.
It’s me—Mojo.
French Bulldog. Bed hog. Snack connoisseur.
Also: full-time emotional support and part-time bodyguard.

And if cancer was a person?
I’d bite it.
I’d growl, snort, lunge, and unleash chaos.

Because this thing—it’s hurt my human.
It’s made her cry. It’s made her tired. It’s made her look at the ceiling at 3 a.m. like she’s somewhere else, and I hate that.

You don’t understand what it’s like to watch someone you love fade in and out of pain.

To watch the sparkle dim in their eyes some days.
To watch them try to act okay so people don’t get uncomfortable.
To watch them give everything just to make it through another appointment, another scan, another stranger with cold hands and fake sympathy.

I know she’s strong.
I know she fights hard.
But I also know the nights she tries to hide her fear.
And if cancer was a person, I’d stand between it and her and say,
“Not today. Not ever. You picked the wrong one.”

Cancer took too much.
It took her sleep.
Her energy.
Her ability to walk without holding onto furniture some days.

It tried to take her joy, but I chased that joy right back into her lap.
Even when she can’t smile, I stay pressed against her.
Even when she’s too tired to talk, I know what she means.

I see what she loses every day.
Her sense of freedom. Her appetite. Her hair.
Sometimes her hope.

And still, she shows up.
Still she fights.
Still she loves me with every ounce she’s got.

So yeah—cancer messed with the wrong girl.
And it messed with my girl.

If cancer was a person, I’d bare my teeth.
I’d drag it across the living room floor like my favorite chew toy.
I’d remind it that I don’t quit.
That she doesn’t either.
That even on the worst days, we still have each other.
And that’s more than cancer can ever take away.

So if cancer was a person?
We’d square up.
And I’d lead the charge.
Because this is my human.
And I’ll protect her with everything I’ve got.
Even if it means going full gremlin mode.

From the paws of Mojo:
Snuggler. Fighter. Her #1 fan.
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