“Taking care of Sid forced me to start taking care of myself. One morning, a few months before my 21st birthday I woke up to find him sitting outside the bathroom, where his water bowl and litter box were, staring inside. He looked up at me with his big green eyes, then gazed forlornly back at the bathroom, which I then saw was covered in puke—my own, from the night before, when I had gotten home shitfaced. I was getting drunk three times a week at that point, but this time I was more wasted than usual and had apparently not reached the toilet in time. Looking at Sid’s face, I felt like the most horrible human being on earth. I promised him then and there that I would get my shit together—and promising him meant more than promising myself or a friend or my mother, because he depended on me and me alone.”
Go ahead and get out the tissues. You’ll need them for this moving, heartfelt essay.