At Bayou Boogaloo last weekend I won a raffle (!!!) to get a free bath and nail trimming for my cat at a local vet clinic.
I brought her in on Saturday morning at 8:30 am sharp. The groomer was leery about my cat and sent a doctor in to chat with us. Why?
Because my poor cat has fleas. I wasn’t able to tell because she has such thick hair and I haven’t honestly encountered fleas before. I felt like the shittiest cat mom in the world sitting there learning about topical treatments and looking at the bites on my ankles–which that morning I contemplated whether they would have been from mosquitoes–and thought the basement, that fucking basement.
In an effort to save some cash and weekly trips to the laundromat I started doing laundry in our coin-op machines downstairs. Wash and dry is $1.00 altogether, which is obviously the cheapest you will ever find anywhere. However, I distinctly remember going downstairs one of the first times for 30 seconds max and returning to my apartment and telling my boyfriend “Just going downstairs makes me feel itchy.”
And I continued to itch.
I am about 95.6% sure the fleas on my cat were dragged up from the basement which, fun fact, also has a door to the outside that doesn’t shut all the way! And! About two tons of FUCKING GARBAGE and trash ass storage from previous tenants.
There’s an Ab Lounge down there. My mom bought that in 2001. Get it?
The gross thing I can’t stop thinking about is how stray cats, raccoons, possoms, rats and all other types of nasty things can come and hide in the endless heaps of shit stored down there and no one would ever know. My cat could theoretically get rabies in her own home because there may be vermin just chilling in the basement.
But does the landlord care? No.
I’m moving in the fall because I can’t stand to be in a building with people in positions of power, like my landlord, who put their tenants in jeopardy by not keeping the house in decent condition. I watched Deepwater Horizon a few months back and call me crazy, but I kept watching and thinking “THE LANDLORD, THE LANDLORD!” because basically everyone in my building has rung the bell about some type of bullshit since I’ve lived here but does anything ever change?
My cat has been shedding fleas. She’s had her medicine, she’s happy as a clam, I’m vacuuming like crazy and spoiling her rotten to make up for how we allowed her to feel so bad and not notice.
Maybe I’m reaching for being angry that the house is so deplorable and blaming her sickness on that. Eh.