Since the beginning of the semester, I have been living in my college dorm with a cat. No, my roommate is not a cat. My roommate is a full functioning human being. But, in addition to my roommate, I live with my Emotional Support Animal (ESA), Troy. Mister Troy Bolton is my ten-year-old cat from my home in Florida. He has been spending his time in college eating, sleeping, and making sure I am comforted. His job as an ESA is to comfort me in my times of need.

After being diagnosed with PTSD in November, I fought to have my cat on campus. In hopes of feeling safe and stable in the residence hall, I could bring Troy to college. PTSD forces me to live life afraid of having a flashback. Whenever I am triggered, I rush to my dorm to cry with Troy.

Because he has been in my family for a decade now, he has been through most of my monumental memories. Troy was there when I graduated elementary, middle, and high school. He was there when we would celebrate my birthdays. And I was there for him on his birthdays when we watch High School Musical together as our tradition. Troy was also there for the passing of my mom. That time in my life is when Troy was constantly with me. I left high school every afternoon looking forward to see my cat.

The transition into college seems like a blur now that I have a piece of home with me. Troy represents the good I had in my childhood. He is my one constant.

He knows when I cry.

He knows when I am stressed out doing homework. He likes to sit on my laptop and purr until I pet him.

Just these few acts prove to me that his love for me is deep and genuine. Animals have a way of healing their owners. They can make a bad day bearable. They can make a seemingly destructive trigger of emotional turmoil seem like a tiny mountain to cross.

I never knew that a cat could mean so much to me. Troy is more than a pet; Troy is family. He is a black ball of sunshine, and I could not have ever wished for a better animal.