So, last night, I got home later than usual, which wasn't really bothering me. Fed the cats, printed out a couple of wedding invitations while I waited, and then went to the store. I bought ingredients for dinner, and when I came out, it was RAINING! Now, this might not sound like an amazing event; nature does it all the time (unless you lived in Phoenix over the winter), but after months of snow and cold, and then the dreck that is exposed by the melt, the first real rain of a Minnesota Spring is a true joy. It feels cleansing and new, just like Spring should be. I stopped at the liquor store so I would have something for the boys in case they were thirsty (one of the rock bands had rehearsal at the house) and some Guinness for me and sent Pete a text message: "RAINING!!! It's raining! I love you!" I was so happy. I came home, unloaded the groceries, put on "Confessions on a Dance Floor", and started cooking, which I truly love doing. A chicken in a tomatillo sauce and chorizo sausage in a red sauce with pinto beans. I was anticipating the arrival of my beloved betrothed, as this would complete the circle of happiness. He opened the door in, I came out into the livingroom, beaming, to greet him, and he says:
"It smells like cat poop in here."
*Sound of record scratching*
He totally peed in my cornflakes.
I said "Maybe it's my cooking," and went back to the kitchen.
Well, of course, he had no idea that he was stomping on a good mood. He was just making a statement. But those good moods don't always stand the test of criticism of any kind. Criticism is, in fact, anathema to them. I am already super sensitive about the cat smell in the house (we have four cats and a small house); this sensitivity goes back to my firm belief, before I met Pete, that I would become Crazy Cat Lady and Die Alone, my nose chewed off by a tabby. It's the end of winter, and the windows have been closed for months, so yeah, there is a noticible tang of cat in the air. I need to spring clean and air the place out. I know this. Pete was not criticizing me, he was just making a statement of fact, but it felt personal. The boys showed up for rehearsal almost immediately, which was for the best because it stopped me from behaving too much like an asshole and making things worse, which I really used to like doing. By the time rehearsal was done, I was still mad, but the four Guinnii had somewhat appeased me. We'll clean up the house on the first sunny and warm day, open all the windows, and let the cats run away.