A parting shot

TWHMM left us/me a litte present: a flea infestation, presumably from the cats who weren't housed there. And now I think I know why they left that beautiful wool rug behind in the laundry Free Stuff area, too. Beware of Geeks bearing gifts.

and other stuff

Cowboy funeral next door this morning. Interesting to hear "Tumbing Tumbleweeds" instead of Amazing Grace.

Whoohoooo...nothing like a randomly shrieking Honda alarm going off under the window to put neighbors in the chummiest frame of mind. Why can't we all just get along? And why do cars still have alarms, when their only purpose is to annoy the non-thieves?

Don't let that door hitcha

Oh, dear Lord. Tenant Who Hated My Molecules refused to leave the keys when moving out--mailed them to the management office instead, avoiding one last interaction with me. (After all, I had the grapevines cut out just to annoy them.) Gee, I'm so hurt. Then I found out the master key I had was no good, as TWHMM had changed the lock without telling us. Gee, I'm so shocked.

Can't help feeling some regret about that level of failure to connect with a fellow human being. I can usually get along with just about anyone. I was bummed last night thinking about it, until Irish reminded me how weird this person was.

Interesting factoid: No further sign of illicit (and utterly useless) cats.

ratz

More years ago than I care to admit to, my daughter begged for a pet rat. I loved her (the daughter, not the rat) so allowed it, even though it meant my own cockatiel had to have a new home--apparently an intrinsic and immutable law of Nature is that avians and rodents don't do well in the same tiny apartment. Being somewhat ratphobic, I had misgivings. Those eyes! Those teeth! That TAIL! I soon discovered, though, that Tickle Baby was actually the ideal pet: quiet, affectionate, low maintenance, entertaining, and shockingly fastidious. After the initial wariness, I actually came to enjoy her teeny, tiny company. I mean, really!



Undomesticated rats, like the kind slinking into our building via outside chinks and careless tenants leaving the laundry door open at night, are quite another matter. They're undoubtedly drawn to us by the restaurant next door; I keep finding their disgusting droppings on the laundry steps. Twice in the last six months, different tenants have come home to find one had crawled through the open windows--talk about freak out! The situation has eased a bit since the peach tree and vines in the building front were removed, but now the wily critters are seeking out new and sneakier ways in.

Normally, I don't like to kill things. Spiders, if I don't wish their company, get put outside the window, moths and such are shooed out. Ants don't come around because there's simply nothing for them, and I've blessedly not seen a cockroach in this buiding in 15 years. However, these rats are The Enemy. I want them trapped, I want them zapped, I want them capped. I think I'd shoot 'em if it weren't illegal (did that back in '68 when I lived in Cleveland! It was fun!) Owner won't spring for a pest control service during these tough economic times, especially now as four out of five units on the first floor are vacant (heLLLLOOOOO, might there be a symbiotic connection between those two facts?) so I need to be diligent in defending my territory--creatively.

It's me against THEM.

First floor diaspora

As of next weekend, four out of the five first floor apartments (or "units", as we Professionals call them) will be vacant. Signore turned in the keys to his place last night; he has moved back to his Oldtown art studio to save money, and will shower at the Y. I do miss him, the way I missed the huge Bird of Paradise plants next to the front door (see header pic) when the gardener unceremoniously chopped them away a couple of months ago. It feels rather empty without them and him. The bushes will come back, but I'm afraid Signore will not. Who will call me at 9 a.m. to complain about the hot water? Who will invite me down to see his new bed or ivy plant, and try to guilt me into giving him our vintage living room lamp? Who will call me by my first and last names every blessed time he addresses me?

However, I will miss one of the other vacating tenants, Socially Awkward Illegal Cat Person, about as much as I miss the inexplicable peach tree in the same picture above--the one that formerly pooped pathetic, woody little fruits all over the steps and driveway every fall and provided urban wood rats such convenient access to the second floor. After two years of creative nagging, it's finally gone. So is the truly hideous gravevine that hid the window through which the contraband felines exited and entered. Interesting that two days after the vine was taken out, the tenant gave notice. I do feel some compassion for SAICP; anyone that difficult to get along with in the simplest of human interactions must have a difficult life indeed. However, time to get unstuck. Hope their new place allows furry pets. Hope our next tenant is a little less weird.

Yeah, me again :P

Facebook is the blog killer. I socialize, therefore I don't write. Then the poor blogs I begin so enthusiastically wither, while I slink away in shame and pretend they were never there.

That ends now, Internet...whether you want me back or not. You hear?