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2005-09-08 @ 1:11 a.m.
feline terrorist destroys at 11


Doesn't she look fierce? And deadly. And evil. And kinda like a terrorist. I mean if you saw her boarding an airplane wouldn't you immediately alert airport security and maybe even call the head of Homeland Security and tell them we have a possible Code Orange situation and maybe interrupt a bar-b-que important meeting to let someone know that an infiltrator was boarding an aircraft. And that they looked very, very dangerous...

You know, like they were carrying weapons of mass destruction. That's right. You heard me. WEAPONS OF MASS DESTRUCTION or as we like to refer to them around here...Guardcat and her toenails.

It seems that my old landlord, the Eye-talians, decided that my cat destroyed every window sill in my old apartment and they needed to take $75 out of my deposit to sand, repair and repaint ALL OF THE WINDOWS IN THE ENTIRE FREAKING HOUSE.

heh. First of all, ahem, Guardcat has never sharpened her claws on a windowsill in her entire life. Ever. My furniture? Now that's a different story. She had a favorite chair she used to hoist her furry body up against and scratch the hell out of it every day. It was like a form of kitty aerobics for her. It annoyed me and I'd yell at her, but after a certain point the chair cushion was so totally destroyed that I just said oh well, I guess that's HER form of entertainment, so be it.

As far as the windows in my apartment? She only sat in one of them. Four of them were too high for her. Two of them were behind a couch and she couldn't get to them. One was behind a kitchen table and she couldn't get to it. One was in my bedroom, but the screen was loose, so I only opened the top half so she couldn't get to it. Another living room one I never even opened, so I don't even know if it opened. The only one she sat in was the one by the front door, and that's all she did. Sit in it and look at ants crawling by. As far as passive aggressive nail sharpening, she'd just run over to her favorite chair and pretend like it was President Bush for me. But now, evidently, the entire apartment lies in shambles since I moved. All the redwood window frames are mere kindling and experts from FEMA are being flown in on Lear jets to examine the extensive damage.

fucking landlords.

The damn place actually looks better then when I moved in. When I moved in two years ago, the rug was filthy and there was mold in the bathroom. She had apologized for the mold, but she just ignored the large dark stains on the living room Astroturf. That's right. That's what I said...Astroturf. I had Astroturf in my living room. It was so totally Martha Stewart -- the prison years.

But there was that other thing. What was it? Ummmm. Oh yes, Guardcat, who had been an indoor cat for her entire life, after moving there, was suddenly infested with a severe case of fleas. And lets see...the guy who moved out just before me? What was unusual about the occupation of said rental? Oh....He had TWO OUTDOOR CATS. Hmm. So about two weeks after I moved in, the fleas were so severe for both me and Guardcat, I finally had to take her to the vet for a flea dip which was almost $60 and I also had to set off several flea bombs at the house which were about $15. But I never told the landlord. I wanted to be on good footing with her.

I've also always been an excellent tenant the last two years. I was never late with the rent. I always took great care of the place. I always kept it clean. I shoveled and salted the driveway in the winter. I didn't have any wild parties. There was no noise. She said she enjoyed listening to me play the piano. I had a beautiful garden in the summer. I watered her garden when she went on vacation. I was always pleasant to them (although I thought her husband was a supreme asshole. He came running out of the house the day I called the power company. I smelled gas in my apartment and when the utility company guy pulled up he came raging out yelling and screaming at me saying I should have called him first. I think he was just afraid someone would find his substandard furnace under the house).

I guess I just don't understand landlords. They seem to have all the rights. And tenants don't have any. Sure there are tons of tenants who are holy terrors and destroy places, but I have always been a great tenant, and I have been screwed out of so many rent deposits its not even funny. One time in California I was leaving a small apartment in Petaluma and my vacuum cleaner bag got filled up when I was vacuuming, so the damn thing wasn't sucking very well. But I did the best I could. Anyways, I got my deposit check back from the landlord about 3 weeks later with $48 deducted. Why? She charged me $8/hr for 6 hours worth of vacuuming. HUH?????? It was only this tiny little 1 bedroom apartment. And the bedroom was literally only big enough for my bed and a nightstand. But what could I do? I had moved up to Oregon and I wasn't about to drive back to California for $48. Bitch!

I've got far worse landlord stories, but I'm too tired to write about them. So I am tempted to write her a note. My mom, of course, is on the war path. She wants me to go over and confront her. She had wanted me to have her go through the apartment the day I cleaned it, but she was having dinner with her big Eye-talian family and you just don't interrupt the Sopranos while they're eating Sunday dinner. And also there are two things I really don't like to do 1) confront people 2) piss off Eye-talians.

I so think I might be able to write her a note though. I don't expect to get the money back, because they were always very, very cheap. The cheapest of everything in the apartment. For instance, the previous tenant had bought a metal storage unit in the back yard with his own money and since there was such limited storage in the apartment I assumed I could use it. When I went to put stuff in there, she came running out and said it would be $15/mo extra. They didn't even buy it. But they knew they could make money off it. This winter when the furnace broke, old dickhead wouldn't even admit that there was ice on the inside of my windows. And I was like, its right there, and I chipped a piece off and he said, "I don't see anything." He'd see it if it was a freakin' winning lottery ticket. If I can get my snark up, I actually feel like writing her a note saying something like "Ya know, its interesting that you say my cat scratched up your window sills. She's declawed. Love, witty. P.S. Have a blast with my $75.

Anyways, it was art class night and I once again co-hosted with Charlemagne the Obnoxious French Guy and miracle of all miracles, he actually got there before me, that is to say, on time, because I was actually about 8 minutes late...hoping in a way for a 6 kiss penalty. But no such luck. I guess he doesn't know about my secret rules. But he did manage to crush my finger in-between two large objects when we were putting things away and he had to kiss my boo-boo. Meh...that'll work too. He then wanted me to look at the large, prodigious tattoo on his back, so I started to pull back the collar on his tee-shirt, thereby choking him and then he insisted that I should perhaps kiss his tattoo. Not sure when that law was enacted. The kissing-the-tattoo-on-the-naked-back law. But needless to say, I didn't kiss his tattoo, because I would have felt kinda stupid kissing some guy's tattoo in the middle of a big room for no particular reason, and he does have a girlfriend, and we all know I have problems with that sort of thing, but its the only offer I've had all week decade.

Keep'em coming Charlemagne...

Hey, if you got a sec, shoot over to Warcry Girl's website (, because I'm too dumb to do html) and vote for me. Thanks!

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Lyrics by Lennon/McCartney. All angst copyright by awittykitty