Mojo and the Mess

Hi, it’s me, Mojo.

I didn’t go to nursing school. I don’t have a fancy degree. I can’t even hold a thermometer without opposable thumbs. But make no mistake: I’m basically a nurse now.

I know when my human’s about to have a bad day before she even does. Her smell changes. Her energy shifts. She gets quiet in a way that makes my ears twitch. That’s when I go into full medical-alert mode.

You think I’m just lying at her feet? Wrong. I’m monitoring vitals.

You think I’m just cuddling on the couch? Wrong again. I’m regulating her blood pressure with my steady little bulldog breathing.

Here’s a breakdown of my official duties:

1. Early Detection

I can sense when something’s off.

Before she gets nauseous, I’m already hovering. Before the tears start, I’m climbing into her lap. And when she’s about to faint from pain or exhaustion, I’m right there, blocking her path so she can’t fall alone.

Humans need blood tests and scans to know what’s happening. I just know. Call it instinct. Or magic. Or just a superpower I didn’t ask for.

2. Comfort Care

I’m basically a weighted blanket that licks your face.

When she’s on the bathroom floor throwing up, I’m right behind her, resting my chin on her shoulder. When the pain hits and she curls into a ball, I curl right there with her. My fur is soft, warm, and apparently, therapeutic. Science can’t prove it, but I know it.

I’m not subtle about it, either. If she tries to push me away because she doesn’t want me to see her hurting, I plant myself harder. She’s not going to face any of this alone.

3. Emotional Support

I might not talk, but I can listen.

When she’s nervous before appointments, I follow her from room to room so she can’t forget I’m here. When she’s angry, I let her vent without judgment. And when she whispers, “I can’t do this anymore,” I just stare at her like, Yes, you can. You have to. Because I’m not going anywhere.

I remind her every day that it’s okay to cry, to be tired, to let someone else be strong. And on days when people disappoint her, I make sure she knows one thing: I will never disappear.

4. Overnight Monitoring

Everyone else sleeps. I don’t.

I stay awake, ears twitching at every sound. I listen to her breathing to make sure it’s steady. I keep an eye on those 2 a.m. bathroom trips, the vomiting, the nights she just lays there silently crying into her pillow.

If I could refill her meds or adjust her blanket, I would. But all I can do is stay close enough for her to feel me. Sometimes that’s enough.

5. Life Coach (unpaid, obviously)

I nudge her out of bed when she’s been lying down too long. I remind her to drink water by splashing it everywhere with my tongue. I give her a reason to laugh when she hasn’t smiled in days.

Basically? I keep her going.

I don’t get a salary. I don’t get benefits. And trust me, I’m not receiving enough snacks for the amount of emotional labor I’m doing. But I take this job seriously.

Because when my human is hurting, I hurt too. And if all I can do is press my head against her chest, remind her that she’s loved, and make her feel a little less alone, then I’ll do it. Every single day.

– Mojo 🐾