June 23

Dear Journal,

Jessy left right after breakfast again—around 7:15 a.m. She packed her bass, kissed the top of my head (a gesture I tolerate with regal grace), and said, “Be good today, Arty.” I watched her walk off from the window ledge.
She’s been gone most of the day setting up and leading worship—so much singing and strumming and people clapping. The birds and I had a tense standoff at noon near the garden. I held my ground.
She came back around 11:30 p.m., glittering with stage lights and joy. I pretended not to care but flopped dramatically on my side until she picked me up

June 24

Dear Journal,

Jessy was out by 7:05 a.m. today. I tried sitting on her shoes to prevent it. She still left. Cruel world. Camp is oddly peaceful when the humans are away. I practiced my pouncing skills on a pile of pine needles and stalked a moth for three full minutes. Masterful technique. She returned at 11:45 p.m.—voice a little hoarse, smile still enormous. I chirped at her in disapproval, but she gave me tuna. Truce accepted.

June 25 — Taylor’s Birthday!

Dear Journal,

Something was definitely up this morning. Jessy darted out at 7:20 a.m., humming louder than usual. I knew something was cooking. Later that night, the camp filled with laughter and the scent of snacks I was not permitted to taste. The entire worship team came over—Leandro, Sara, Michael, and yes, the legendary Taylor. I made several cameos, mostly under the guise of investigating chip crumbs. They laughed, sang off-key birthday songs, and gave Taylor some kind of round dessert with fire on it (??). I sat near Jessy’s bass case, letting the vibrations lull me into a nap. Jessy didn’t come to bed until nearly midnight. I guarded her pillow in the meantime.

June 26

Dear Journal,

Jessy slept in a little—must’ve been 7:30 a.m. when she left. She seemed tired but happy. I curled up in the sun-drenched corner of our cabin and reflected on life. I believe I am the spiritual center of this entire worship ministry. They just don’t know it. When she returned around 11:15 p.m., I made biscuits on her favorite sweater while she talked about a new song they tried tonight. I meowed approvingly. She said, “You’d make a good worship leader, Artemis.” Obviously.

June 27

Dear Journal,

Jessy left at 7:10 a.m. with a thermos of tea and a voice that was almost gone. I’m beginning to think humans were not built for this level of daily singing. I spent most of the day meditating beneath the porch. When Jessy came back around 11:40 p.m., she curled up on the couch and whispered that tomorrow she’ll rest. I curled beside her, one paw on her hand, purring like a lullaby. She said, “Goodnight, lionheart.” And I think I am.