Maybe Grandpa was Right

more animals

I like cats. Always have. I know the great majority of earth's population do not. It's okay. We all have our differences.

My grandpa is allergic to cats. Growing up, he'd always comment about how the only good cat was a dead cat and make some illustration about putting them in a gunnysack and throwing them in the river. I would always act shocked and appalled at this thought.

I loved the cats we had growing up - Poncho was the Siamese that I would wrestle when I was a toddler, and Ellie was my sweet callico I got from the Humane Society in high school. I love Quincy, Matt and Erika's cat - though, he's a lot like a dog sometimes.

However, the story that Nate told me on the phone this morning makes me re-think my love of cats. It's gross, so if you are easily queezed-out (new word), I recommend you stop reading now and move on to the next blog in your Google reader.

In our apartment building, there was a tenant that began to cause some disturbances more and more often. Yelling at his girlfriend more frequently. Lot of visitors at odd times (which made us think he was dealing with some things illegal). Door alway open a crack when he was home. Nate and I discussed it one night and talked about how if it got any worse, wasn't there some way he could be evicted? It was really bad.

What seemed like the very next day, or at least the same week, there was suddenly a sign for a sale in the apartment 14 - the very apartment of the tenant we had just discussed. He was moving out in a hurry and needed to get rid of stuff. Coincidence? Hmm...

Fast forward to today. Nate calls me at work to tell me this story:

Nate: Just tell me what you think of when I say "18."
Me: Hmm. Well, it could be an age.
Nate: Yes, it could be.
Me: Or the number of emails in your inbox this morning.
Nate: Oo...good, it is an amount of something. Think of who I might have talked to this morning while doing you a favor.
Me: Okay, the amount of the late fee for late rent?
Nate: Worse, much worse. Cats they found in apartment 14.
Me: WHAT?!?!?!

Our apartment manager told Nate that they had discovered 18 cats in the apartment, all living in corners in their own filth. That explains why the door was open all the time, and, as Nate pointed out, why you never saw any visitors actually go IN the apartment. How did the entire complex not stink? Is the place now condemnable? Will they EVER be able to rent it again? I feel so bad for them!

The worst part for me is I know I saw the former tenant and his girlfriend with a child more than once. Does that mean that child was in there with all those cats and filth?

I shudder. One cat. That's all you need.