So much for the notion that women are cleaner and more fastidious than straight guys as far as subletting my place goes. That supposition is probably still true for the most part, but the woman who stayed in my place while I was away for the last 31 days was an exception to the rule, you bet.
The first thing I saw were two and half cat-vomit piles on the Oriental rug. The second was a baby photo of Jett which had been hanging on the kitchen wall but now was lying on the floor in pieces. The third was that the cat litter had been scooped out but changed only once, if that. The fourth was only a few pellets of cat food in the bowls and no cat drinking water. The fifth was three soiled bath towels lying on a heap on my living-room couch. (My cleaning person got sick and couldn’t spruce the place up for my arrival, but still.) The sixth was two wide-open bags of dry cat food, which are kept on the top of the refrigerator, sitting on the kitchen counter next to the coffee-maker. Why? Because it was easier to keep them there — because Ms. Fastidious couldn’t be bothered to seal the bags and put them where they belong. Are you seeing a pattern here?
It was like an animal had broken into the place and rummaged around for a few hours, eaten most of the cat food, taken two shits on the rug and left. It was like a homeless person had broken in with a screwdriver and wiped his ass with one of my dress shirts and then slept on the couch for a night or two. The place is being professionally cleaned tomorrow morning but good God.