No Wheels for Cats.

Tonight I watched an episode of CSI.  A man was killed by a parrot trying to escape from a cat (man fell and banged his head in the shower); a woman was killed by the parrot (surprised by bird, fell on her butcher knife);  There were at least two logical suspects (not the parrot or the bird)  and everybody went back to their original safe venues. Except the dead people. Totally new and catchy but it made me wonder if TV viewers are so jaded by commercial television that they need the occasional red herring, locked-room goodie to keep them watching.

It was the Full Moon last night and I took a picture of it just to make sure it didn’t get away.

And I can have a pet while I’m here.  It’s a fairly simple process.  I provide management with $500 and do everything they say.  Get a small pet. (So much for my Pit Bulldog…)  Make sure it doesn’t damage anything.  Take it out to do it’s business on a regular basis.  Oh, and carry it out and back to my apartment.  Animals aren’t allowed to walk on the floors in here, except for service dogs. They must be carried unless they have wheels.  Everybody can have wheels in here.  Wheeled walkers, chairs, shopping carts, roller skates, I guess.  Do they make cats with wheels?  Perhaps I could get a Pit and call it my Anxiety Dog?

I came in from shopping yesterday and there were three Police cruisers parked out front.  Turned out there was a death on 3, a death on 7 and a couple old duffers going at it on 10.  One of them is bipolar and doesn’t like to take his medicine.  They provide everything here, even the excitement.

Now I am going to have some more coffee and think about all this.  Ta!

Three Pickup Truck Loads

I moved on Saturday October 2nd.  And on the 3rd.  And on the 4th.  And then a little on the following Wednesday and Thursday.  We were supposed to have nine people to help with this and it should have taken about 4 or 5 hours and three pickup truck loads.  However some were sick, some just forgot and we wound up with self (no good for anything but supervising) three old guys like me and a lady who had to leave at 3 the first day.  Sorry, two ladies.  Once I figured out the probable logistics, I went into an anxiety mode that lasted three days.  

On about the fourth of the month the landlord called to say that I was taking too long to become absent and he had pro-rated the days since the 2nd and I owed him $137.  I sent him  a letter about the time I paid full rent while he dallied about fixing a gutter on the back of the building, which caused rain to come into the bedroom and onto my head while I was sleeping.  I also told him that I couldn't afford any more of his pro-rates so he would have to remove anything I left behind.  And you can be damn sure I left a mess for him:  junk, boxes, a useless clothes dryer...about three pickup trucks worth.  And then I told him  what he could do with his pro-rate.  I haven't heard a word since.

He used to live in the apartment before I moved in and back at that time he was using drugs and beating his wife thoroughly a couple or three times a week.  He doesn't pick up anymore and the lady stuck with him.  Since I sent him the letter I haven't heard a word from him.  I didn't expect any rainbow of feelings about this moving business and I was pretty startled by it all.  I figured..you just move from one place to another and there it is.  I was scared and anxious during the move, lonely and sad for the first couple weeks here.  Now that I've been here a month I've been slowly feeling better and better and now pretty good.  When I return to the apartment about suppertime it feels like home.  Things are pretty normal now, I am almost arranged in here and, oops!, I'm late for the evening hen party with the 70-year-olds!  Ta!

Honey I'm Home !!

This is not a pretty building.  It reminds me of a 1953 Tupperware that got hit several times by a low-flying missile. It would fit more suitably in Miami Beach.   

The inside is much nicer.  The apartments are nice, the kitchens are small but have twice the storage space I’m used to.  There is a lake in the back and you aren’t allowed to feed the dux, so that they don’t become dependent on people and leave presents all over the sidewalk.  You are not allowed to shoot them either but you can pull bass out of the lake night and day if you want to.

There are mostly women living here and they are mostly old and a couple seem a little loopy.  Maybe a couple to the 10^th power.  But if you can take care of yourself you can loop around all day long with the approval of the management.  The women are not all named Amanda, Amber, Courtney or Brittany.  They have real names that you can remember like Faye, Maizie, Mabel, the ubiquitous Mary, Geraldine and Rosie.  On days they can’t remember their names, they come over to my place and I remember for them.  I am also very handy at opening vials and bottles of medicine for the shaky girls.

What they don’t tell you when you sign up:

The women like to match-make.  I am obviously here to find the love of my life and they keep introducing me to likely possibles.  Their choice is not necessarily mine.  I think I would rather have three of the ones they haven’t thought of, including the 60-year-old who used to work for the CIA.  And who has marvelous and impossible stories.

Awhile back there was a spate of outsiders entering the building at night, getting into apartments and stealing money and other valuables.  This was because several of the girls ‘hid’ their apartment keys in a safe place,  under the taxus bushes out front.  Thieves knew just where to look for a dandy assortment and residents were leaving so fast vacancies were created, which is why I wasn’t on any kind of waiting list.  Management got together with the police and the old ladies and did something with locks and new keys and some entrances permanently locked from the outside and the problem is resolved.  If they find my key under the bushes now, it will cost me $50 and supper for 8. Donna, down the hall has a 10 millimeter handgun and if she tries to shoot me she will surely hit you.  She used to prowl the corridors after midnight, locked and loaded and I believe a couple shadows got dead with 10 out of 10. I am grateful for the locks.

Sorry for leaving you but it’s almost 2 and I have to take my place at the 2^nd floor women’s Hen Party.  Amazing the things you find out!  Ta!

Next time:  Moving and Paranoia.