Got a call at work today. My landlord from Haileybury. Kind of surprised. I left a bunch of stuff up at the old place and I meant to go pick it up but a snow storm (and a raging hangover) kept me from completing that task. I figured that was the reason for the call. That was part of it.
First she wanted to know if I still had the key. I did. She gave me her address and I agreed to mail it to her.
Next, she noted that some of the carpet had been picked apart and wanted to know if that was done by my cats. I said that could have been but I hadn't noticed given the large stains and worn out sections that were there when I moved in. She wanted to know if I would give her some money for the damages. I said "No". And reminded her that the carpet was already crap when I moved in.
Next came the cleaning bill. She said she had to get a professional cleaner there was so much cat hair and the fridge was full of mould and the oven was filthy and the closet was full of some dark marks or something. I was surprised. I'm not a tidy person by any means but I thought I'd actually done a pretty good job. I'd vacuumed but apparently not thoroughly enough. I did clean the fridge but I guess if you turn off a fridge you're supposed to leave the door open so nothing starts growing. The oven I barely even used. The closet? Beats me. Kept shoes and jackets in there and that's it.
What really started to tick me off was she was talking to me like I was some deadbeat who had really stuck it to her. Now way back in my university days I'll admit I left a few residences in less than pristine conditions. But I was a student and I felt that that's what was expected of me. Plus, that's what security deposits are for. Since graduating, I think I've been a model tenant wherever I've rented. Rent is always paid on time, I'm relatively quiet, I don't have big parties, and I've never skipped out on my two months notice. The only problem is I do have two cats. Two hairy cats. Two hairy cats with claws.
So I felt a little guilty about what they'd done. But words can't describe this shack that I lived in for two and a half years. It smelled of mould from day one. Structurally, it was questionable. A strong wind would cause enough shift in the framing that the back door would pop open. There was no grout left in the shower tiles which let water seep into the walls and I'm sure a forest of fungi was prospering in between the studs. The flooring, as I mentioned, was shot when I got there. The rear deck had a load bearing capacity of one person and one bbq and that's it. And then there was the basement flooding, and the water tank exploding, and the furnace dying in the middle of winter. All things that could happen to anyone but happened at this place because the owners were incredibly cheap.
So to have someone track me down at my place of employment to yip at me that I hadn't done a good enough vacuuming job in this shit hole was somewhat irksome. But my initial reaction was to laugh at her. She didn't like that. But whatever. I said I'd chip in on the cleaning bill to absolve my conscience of whatever the cats may have done.
Hopefully that's the end of it but I do get the feeling they're grubbing for whatever money they can get since they haven't rented the place out again. For me, anyways, that's the end of it and the end of thinking about that horrible place.