I’m hitting the last few days of a house sitting gig that
has, shall we say, challenged me in some new and interesting ways.
Seeing as I’m still a homeless vagabond (in spite of the
fact that I’ve technically been looking for a house of my own for a couple of
years now – more on that later), when someone asks me if I can take care of
their place and pets for a couple of weeks I usually feel like I’m in a
position where I can help them out, so I probably should.
It’s always an adventure living in someone else’s
house. It’s “going away” without
actually going on a holiday, so you get to experience a few weeks in a new and
different place without cutting into your leave time. And trying to find everything you need to,
for example, cook dinner and eat it, can be an entertaining challenge. I remember one house which seemed to have
every kitchen utensil under the sun – except the one I wanted – and another where
I spent days looking for a box of matches, only to stumble across a couple of them after I
decided I didn’t want them anymore.
It’s quite fun wandering around a place opening cupboards
and saying “oh, that’s where you keep
the insecticide.” Everyone has their
“perfectly logical” places to put things, but they’re not the same places. Trying to find stuff is like a cross between
a puzzle and an exercise in mind reading, and I love that sort of thing. “I know you must have a broom somewhere…”
Every house and family has their quirks. Some of them can make you wonder what you
signed up for, but most of them are just part of the adventure.
In most cases, the “real” adventure is provided by the
pets. There was the grey cat who used to
sit on my chest at 5am, and I couldn’t see it in the dark but I could feel it
staring directly into my face. Then
there was the cat who “welcomed” me into its home by throwing up outside my
bedroom door on the first night. Oh, and
the cat who brought a bird into the house and spread parts of it throughout
three rooms was extra special. I’ve only
sat one dog, and it was a grumpy little beast who would ask for pats then try
to bite you.
Most of it is par for the course and part of the game. I don’t expect to be completely hitch-free in
another person’s house.
This house, however, has taught me that I need to be a bit
more discriminatory when I agree to take care of someone’s place. Previously, I’ve just agreed, and then turned
up to find out what I’m getting myself in for.
Now, I’m going to have a few stipulations before I agree to house-sit:
1. The house must have
a completely functional bathroom and toilet. This house has a few issues with its
plumbing, so I’ve been instructed to avoid letting water flow freely down the
plug hole. This is not conducive to
having a comfortable bathing experience of any kind or duration. Additionally, the toilet cistern is wearing
out, so sometimes it doesn’t stop filling, and sometimes it doesn’t fill at
all. I’ve had to fix it several times in
the past two weeks, and at one point thought I might need a plumber.
2. All doors to rooms
where one might desire privacy must both shut and open. The toilet door (which you can’t reach from
the toilet) won’t stay shut. The
bathroom door might break and leave you locked in the bathroom. The bedroom door can be nudged open, and
there’s no way to shut it more securely.
There’s also no security screens on the main doors to the house, and no
way of seeing who’s on the other side of the door before you open it. Given that the house is in a high crime area,
this doesn’t make me feel particularly safe either.
3. If any animal is
expected to sleep inside, but poop exclusively outside, that animal must be
able to let itself outside for pooping.
If you don’t have a dirt box, then have a catflap. My sleep should not be at the mercy of your
critter’s bowel movements. This cat either wakes me up in the ‘wee’ hours of the morning to be let out – or it
doesn’t. And then I’m wondering if
there’s some surprise waiting for me somewhere in the house.
4. If I am expected to
bring your mail into the house, then the mailbox should be safely accessible.
The letterbox of this house is especially designed to throw the mail directly
into an overgrown garden bed under a tree that is infested with spiders. I’m not kidding. The tree is festooned with spider webs. And I found out yesterday that it’s actually
worse if the mail stays in the letterbox, because you have to walk under more
of the spidery tree to get to it.
This has not been a particularly restful and relaxing couple
of weeks.
