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I’ve been stacking cash on my Apple Card —
not the credit card, the gift card you can load money into.
Why?
Because my orange-fur homie, Simba, was due for his annual checkup.
Every year this shit gives me nerves.
Not because of the cat —
but because I already know what’s coming:
Blood test. X-ray. Panel. Surprise fee.
Vet mumbo-jumbo.
My wallet melting like a snowman under a blowtorch.
I swear annual checkups should be called
annual bleed-outs.
So on the drive there, all I’m thinking is: $$$.
Simba’s had respiratory issues for YEARS.
And every year it’s the same dance:
“Let’s test him again.”
“Let’s run another panel.”
“Let’s do another x-ray.”
And nothing ever gets solved.
So today I said:
No more.
Not out loud with profanity —
but with the calmness of someone who finally sees the game.
And surprise, surprise…
They actually listened.
They finally gave me the right medication —
the one Simba needed YEARS ago.
Now he’s knocked out, snoring in his cardboard box,
while I type this in the quiet of my studio.
And you know what?
I realized I’ve been doing Simba wrong.
Not because I didn’t care —
but because I kept trusting the wrong people.
Today, I trusted my gut instead.
And my gut said:
Stop paying for the same problem
and ask for the damn solution.
Live.
Die.
Repeat.
Then finally —
wake up.
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