Believe it or not, I reserve the right to a bad day. I do. And boy, let me tell you, when the time comes, I milk the badness for all it's worth.
Let me preface this with a list. A list of all things bad. Which generally ruin my day.
1) The Fiance, of whom I should be relishing the glory of our engagement with, lives an hour-and-a-half away.
2) We visit on weekends, and weekends only. We have a Weekends Only Engagement. A Long-Distance Engagement. Think long-distance relationship, only much worse.
3) Gas. It's expensive.
4) Which brings me to the next point: If gas wasn't so ludicrously expensive, I could probably visit The Fiance more than once a week.
5) Weekends? They're not long enough.
6) Weekdays? WAY too long.
7) The wedding? It's being planned from three different locations. My city. His city. And Mom's city.
8) I'd like to plan it together. But wait, I live an hour-and-a-half away. Two hours, if you're Mom.
9) I must find a job in that city, far, far away, and it's looking grim. That, in and of itself, is the most overwhelming task of them all.
10) Because if I don't find a job, all of this goes on for that much longer.
11) And that makes me not want to get out of bed.
So last night there I am in my bed, crying like a girl, with no one to talk to but my plants, when Harley jumps onto the crumpled blankets. She noses around, probably thinking, "What the Hell is your problem, lady? Do you know I poop in a box? A box," when, in true Loyal Cat Fashion, she curls into the curve of my balled up stomach and reaches her paw up to my nose.
In reality, she was probably batting at a tear, or forcing me to smell her feet, which recently dug a hole into her litterbox, but I knew deep down it meant she loved me.
Because I feed her. And she has no choice.