Mojo and the Mess

by Mojo, the French Bulldog, certified good boy and emergency replacement blogger

Hi. It’s me. Mojo.

Mom’s not feeling good today. She said she’s “too sick to blog,” which I think means she’s curled up in bed with puke breath and the TV asking if she’s still watching.

So I’m taking over.

I’m not a writer per se, but I am a professional observer of suffering, eater of peanut butter, and emotional support loaf. Which makes me more qualified than most.

Here’s the situation:

Mom’s been throwing up. A lot. Her bones hurt (all of them). Her hair’s trying to come back but it looks like sad broccoli. She hasn’t eaten anything but an English muffin in two days. She made a noise this morning that sounded like a dying goose. I did not like that.

So I’ve been on duty.

I followed her to the bathroom.

I laid outside the door when she was crying.

I sniffed her forehead like a tiny, flat-faced doctor.

I sat on her legs to remind her she is loved. (And also because they’re warm.)

What humans don’t understand is that caregiving is my full-time job.

I don’t need breaks. I don’t need applause.

I just need her to be okay.

And maybe a little cheese.

If you’re new here, let me catch you up on a few things:

My mom has cancer. She’s in her twenties, but she already knows more about pain than most people twice her age. People call her “inspirational,” but honestly? She’s just trying to survive. She writes this blog to tell the truth. And sometimes the truth is gross, sad, hilarious, and covered in dog hair.

I like to think I help with that last part.

Today’s truth?

She didn’t have the energy to put words together.

She could barely sip water. She whispered “Mojo, help” and I knew it was time to step up.

So here I am. Paw on the pulse. Nose in the drama. Holding it down while she rests.

To everyone who loves her:

Send her a message. Tell her you see her. Tell her you know she’s not “just tired” or “just emotional.” Tell her she doesn’t have to be strong today.

And if you’re one of those people who only check in when it’s convenient or when there’s a post to share—

I see you. I know who you are. And I will fart in your shoes.

With love.

Because I’m still polite.

But I’m watching.

To my mom:

I got you.

Sleep as long as you need.

Throw up if you have to.

I’ll be right here, at the foot of the bed, smelling like Fritos and love.

And when you’re ready to come back to this blog, I’ll scoot over.

But for now, it’s Mojo and the Mess, minus the human.

Just until she’s back on her feet.

Love,

Your best boy

P.S subscribe!

🐾 Mojo