how i lost my cat

Three panels. Three shades of the same electric purple. Three moments in a loss the world called small. Living with ADHD means your nervous system does not scale grief — a cat and a catastrophe feel the same weight. The central panel is memory: warm, specific, irreplaceable — a woman who still holds something alive, hair curled as if time has not yet moved. The flanking panels are what remains: two figures in rooms that used to contain something breathing. The light has changed. The arms are empty. The triptych does not explain what happened. It only shows what before and after look like when you feel everything at full volume, with no mute button available. Some losses are not proportionate to their cause. They are proportionate to how much you loved.