Almost an explosion

Ye, the whole yesterday was a waste, a shitty Monday, but there was one moment that sort of turned the tables in the afternoon. I was already depressed as fuck, on top of being agitated and borderline manic. I was mad with the General for fucking up my plans and then refusing to comprehend why having a precise schedule for something random means so much to me. Things already being on a verge of me burning down the village, I offed to the restroom and didn't properly close the door to the studio - one of the cats sneaked in and went right for the window ... the window where newly poured paints were drying ... One wrong step and the lot of it would come spilling down, sticky multicoloured popcorn, in one colourful irreparable mess, as the trays are not designed to support cat. The General realised this and the fact that losing two weeks of work in one moment would result in triple murder-suicide, his universe coming to a horrific halt. You know those scenes in movies where the camera zooms out but the frame pulls in. That. The cat stood literally in between the pans. If just one stuck to her hairs, she'd drag it and spill over the others - this would be the least damage imaginable. The most ... if she slipped and started knocking them over ... unimaginable.
       This was the most General has been afraid all year. Like talking to a suicide bomber, trying to defuse a nuclear warhead, he approached the cat carefully, getting tangled in my photo arrangement on the way, afraid to breathe, afraid to startle Tove or excite it. Luckily, he managed to lift her in time. But how worried he was for a moment. The marital alternative to handling nitroglycerin.