Taxidermy Cat: A Hollow Thing

Have you ever wanted something—really wanted something—so badly that you convinced yourself that the closest knockoff version was basically the same thing? Like, “Sure, it’s not what I hoped for, but it’s better than nothing... right?”

Enter: the Taxidermy Cat.

Yes. The taxidermy cat. The very picture of a haunting compromise. Allow me to explain.

Imagine you’ve always wanted a black cat. A soft, purring, living, affectionate little gremlin that knocks things off your table and judges you from across the room. You finally get one—or so you think. You buy all the toys, treats, and cat trees your budget and poor decision-making can allow. You commit. You post photos. You tell yourself (and others) how great it is to finally have what you’ve always wanted.

But then—plot twist—you realize your beloved feline companion doesn’t eat, move, blink, or even breathe. Why? Because it’s a taxidermy cat. It looks real. It might even freakishly resemble the real thing. But the essence—the life—is missing. It’s just... fur and glass eyes. Technically, a cat. Emotionally? A horror show.

And here’s the kicker: you bought it. You settled. You told yourself, “This is good enough,” because somewhere deep inside, you didn’t believe the real thing was possible—or worse, that you didn’t deserve it.

We do this more often than we admit, with relationships, jobs, friendships, life goals, … We settle for the "good enough" version, the hollow shell, the emotional taxidermy project, because real comes with risk. It demands honesty. It might fall apart. It might not love you back. But guess what? The fake thing never really loved you either.

So let’s call it: dragging around a taxidermy cat is exhausting. It’s weird. It’s heavy. And eventually, you’ll start to stink of regret and denial.

Why not wait for the real cat? Or the real job. Or the real connection. Even if reality is harder, less shiny, and prone to peeing in your laundry basket (emotionally speaking), it’s real. And real things grow, surprise you, disappoint you, and fulfill you in ways the hollow ones never can.

I’m not going to live in a mausoleum of “almosts.” I’m done calling my taxidermy cat “fulfillment.” I’m after the real thing—messy, breathing, alive. (And to be clear, I’m more of a dog person, but you get the point.)

Engage in reality. Challenge yourself. Grow. Trust that you deserve to fight for what you truly want. And if you don’t get it the first time? Try again. Move. Search. Crawl forward. Because one day, you’ll land in a place where you no longer settle, because you know what the real thing feels like.

Be authentic. Be you. And never forget—you deserve the real thing. So go get it. Make It Possible.