The day started off badly when I flooded a bathroom that wasn’t even mine. I don’t have a picture because I was too busy nearly in tears, frantically apologizing, and flinging towels about the floor, but it looked something like this:
I banged my head against Doyle’s car door in frustration, realized it was scalding hot, shrieked, jumped back, got in the car and promptly started to cry.
Yeah. It was one of those days.
So, I didn’t actually think it would get worse, but then there was a reprieve. It was like some deity was actively trying to cheer me up.
We had a visitor.
A cat followed Chris Dyck into the house.
At that point, who was I to tell it to leave? It earned being in our house. I was grinning ear to ear like a crazy person while Chris Dyck went all about his business telling me that we couldn’t keep it and that it shouldn’t be in here and that he was allergic and whatever, but I didn’t care. I had my cat. It earned its place.
This cat was seriously so cool. It just waltzed in like it owned the place. Dyck meowed at the cat and the cat just yowled right back at him and Dyck kind of shrieked a bit and it was awesome because the cat totally won.
This cat would not stay out of Dyck’s room.
Which is why this cat was so awesome. I tried to tell Dyck that the cat just really liked him and that he should take this as a sign that we should definitely have a cat, but Dyck wasn’t quite seeing things from my perspective. The cat just wanted to be friends and Dyck wasn’t even giving it a chance.
I suggested that the cat should be named Grey, because that’s a cool guy’s name, or Watson, because that’s an amazing name for a cat, but Chris suggested that the cat should be named Get-The-Fuck-Out-Of-My-House, which just wasn’t cool, Chris. Not cool.
He pretended that he didn’t like the cat, but he did.
And then the cat was on my bed and we snuggled and I gave him food because on some bizarre chance, that same day Doyle’s mom gave us a can of cat food in case we came across a stray cat or something.
Eventually Doyle got home and I bolted out of my chair for some reason and immediately he was all, “WHAT DID YOU DO” and I was like, “WE HAD A VISITORit’spossibleitwasacat” and he was all, “WHAT” and I was all, “WHAT” and then he fumed at me and stormed about the place ranting about how he left for only a few hours and I had already kidnapped a cat.
Then I pointed out that I had actually catnapped a cat and Doyle’s eyes went all bulgey.
His mom walked in and approved of my catnapping, so whatever, Doyle. Whatever.
In any case, I eventually realized that I didn’t actually know where the cat was anymore (“You kidnapped a cat and you lost it?!” “Catnapped.”), and after searching all over the house, we couldn’t find it. I concluded that it must have been some sort of magical escaping cat and Doyle concluded that I was an idiot.
I thought the day was looking up, but then Dyck got a ticket and it was my fault and I felt awful so I offered to pay for it, but when we got home I still felt awful (and poorer), so I finished the rest of a bottle of rosé, ate a chocolate bar and a half, and went to bed feeling not much better but definitely more intoxicated.
It was a very healthy, productive day.
Except for that it was awful and I kind of just wanted to crawl into a corner and cry.
But there was an impromptu magical disappearing cat, so you know, not a total loss.