Saturday, April 28, 2018

The gift of not being able to find anything

My mother and aunt have run away to Japan for the weekend (Scoot airlines had a $275 round-trip  deal, wtf) so I am housesitting while the man rips our roof apart with his crew of large friends. My mother thinks I use these house-minding overnights to throw all her stuff away, and she is CORRECT. Looking into renting a flamethrower for her mail pile. She is not a pack rat, particularly, but gets overwhelmed by the places where clutter accumulates; recycling, papers, the shoe pile, art supplies. I am hauling everything away and blaming it on her cats. Whatever it was that’s gone missing, the cats peed on it. The old lids to lost plastic containers? Yeah, I don’t know how the cats got into the drawer, it’s amazing. The Guinness that was in the mini fridge? Fuckin cats these days, I tell you.

A body needs someone to toss the detritus and do a hard scrub once in a while. Probably, you’d want them to warn you first, but OH WELL. She’s not old enough to have a cane to hit me with, so that is just poor planning on her part.

Edit: I found a cane! Should probably either hide it better, or plan preemptive strike.

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