Still haven’t found the character. Mumph. On a…
Still haven’t found the character. Mumph.
On another note, just got done telling a guy I work with all the joy that was ours when we bought our house last year, and it reactivated all my trauma from the event. The house itself was fine - filthy, but fine. The people we bought it from, on the other hand, were a whole different story. And they’re both schoolteachers. Remember that as I go…
First of all, they had three cats. Long-haired, dark-furred, indoor-outdoor cats. In and of itself, not at all a bad thing, especially when one of the little darlings is bored and looking for something mobile to torture. Out of many things associated with these warm fuzzies, here’s the first - the cats were fed on the kitchen counter. Not in front of, not beside, but up on the counter between the stove and the sink, on top of the (pleasantly warm and rumbly) dishwasher. Major ick in and of itself. Oh wait, it gets better… as we’re dutifully traipsing around after the home inspector, we all parade outside to watch him do his thing. The house is on a raised foundation, and we see that the two screens that are supposed to be covering the access holes at the sides of the house are both lying on the ground to one side of their respective holes. My husband turns to the (former) owner of our potential castle (let’s call him, um, er, David) and asks him if he realizes that the access holes are uncovered. He replies, “Why yes. They were covered, but I took the screens off because my cats like to play under there.” Heh. Okay. Said home inspector dutifully crawls underneath the house to check out the foundation and other stuff, and upon return to the world of light and hope, asks David if he’s missing a cat. David says, “Why no, why do you ask?” Turns out there’s a dead cat under the house. It’s been dead for at least three months, according to the inspector’s expert opinion (one would presume that a person in his profession comes across a lot of dead things) and the remains look pawed through. So follow the chain of events with me here: the (living) kitties like to go outside to play, specifically under the house, where they get fluffy and festive with their dearly departed; the same kitties then traipse, exhausted from their hours of feline revelry, back into the house for a snack and a drink of water, which they have up on the kitchen counter between the stove and the sink. Is this gross enough for you? Oh wait, there’s more. The female half of the couple (David’s wife) is six months pregnant at this point. Can you say toxoplasmosis, boys and germs? Oh wait, there’s more. They are both schoolteachers - I know I already said that, but it bears repeating. I need to find out where they teach so that my child never goes to school there. When I find out I’ll post it here so you can warn your friends away from that place too. I need to go to a meeting, but next time I’ll tell you what happened after we closed and got the keys…