My husband will not let me get a cat.
The agreement was, we get a house, we get a cat, end of story. I have a name picked out, and a hole in my heart for a little meow-meow to fill, but alas. We have lived in our home since October, and to date, there are no kitties roaming our halls.
His reason for bringing the hammer down on the adoption of a cat? The house isn't clean enough.
I mean... before I ever married this man, he was well aware that I was no neat freak. And I was well aware of his hoarding habits and ability to shed massive amounts of body hair over short periods of time. He accepted my severe hatred of mornings and awful breath and I accepted the head cheese smell that emanated from his pillow.
I've cleaned what I reasonably could without sacrificing well-deserved free time but we're still working on sifting through a growing collection of boxes -- growing, unfortunately, due to our ongoing work at Hubs' grandma's house.
I'm not sure where the fighting cock wall ornaments are going to go. I couldn't tell you where I'm going to find space for the largest photo album collection I've ever seen. I'm not allowed to tackle the collection of transformers that are still in their original packaging. I have no idea what to do with the jumbled mess of electronic gizmos and cords.
This is a task for someone with a lot more time on their hands. I can go a box at a time, but for every box I empty, it seems three more magically appear. And Hubs doesn't seem eager to empty a single one. Which shows me he really doesn't want a little meow meow to love.
How could you, Hubs? How could you promise me my furry little love and then so callously snatch it away? Do you not really want a kitty? Are you worried about taking on the responsibility? Are you wary of loving a creature who will only die on you, eventually?