I have to admit, when I walked into 128, I felt…deflated. I didn’t recognize the place.
The apartment was dirty, it felt rundown and unloved.
When I started my Grand Voyage, I’d simplified my life, riding myself of much of the crap holding me back. I’d slapped on a fresh coat of paint and left my cats in the care of strangers. It was a place, a sanctuary, to which I couldn’t wait to return.
Upon my homecoming, I find my cats hate me – Molly Mae has ignored me all day and Joey took a chunk outta my hand, hissing at me every time I pass him – not exactly the reaction I was expecting from my boy…and, again, it was dirty – I had to vacuum the vacuum cleaner.
I can forgive the breakage, I didn’t really leave anything I couldn’t live without, so if a one-of-a-kind, priceless (to me) Nightwing action figure lost a leg, oh well, it’s not the end of the world. What I can’t forgive is the dust.
Dust.
Thick ropes of dust. Dust that looked as if it started collecting the day I left all the way back in June of 2010 – and on that day, believe me, there wasn’t a speck. I left lots of cleaning supplies – ’cause I needed to buy $130.00 worth of fresh supplies to get it back into shape I know what i left was used, but used where? And on what? Certainly not the ceiling fan in the bedroom or the kitchen floor….
I don’t fault my cat-sitters, after all, this stuff, wasn’t their stuff, it was someone else’s stuff. Really no different then a hotel, and let’s face it, who among us treat hotels with respect?
