Kitty kitty

Dad's little girl cats, Trixie and Punkin, live in my basement guest room. They are sweet and loving little cats, and they were dad's constant companions. The problem is, I can't get Oide to be anything but aggressive with them unless I have my hands directly on his scruff. He has attacked Trixie a couple times, he's drawn blood. I thought I got them doing well, but only if I am there ad they are ignoring each other. Punkin won't even come out of the room now. This breaks my heart.

They're safe, well fed, they have a clean litter box, a scratch post, toys which they do play with, a window to look out, and I spend time down there several times a day. Trixie loves me. I simply feel very guilty as they want to be near people all the time and that can't happen. They don't even like each other much. Ounkin should be an only cat, and Trixie would get along if Oide would. LOL, Harry gets a glimpse and runs upstairs and hides under the bed! I can't imagine them trying to get along with dogs, never going to happen.

This isn't a huge deal in the grand scheme of things, but it is a little piece of sadness in my world.

Mountains of Crap

Long time, no see.

Burning Man happened. It was okay, we had rain and whiteouts and didn't get out of camp much. Just a weird year, and not in the most interesting ways. My camera died a dusty death.

Still dealing with dad's house. I finally have the nieces off their asses, some of them, to retrieve their treasures. You want your inheritance? Come and get it.

Marvin is still in the basement but he's hiding from me. Only a couple weeks left on his 30 days to vacate. I don't think he has the money, but I don't care now. I cared when I thought he was a human being, not a filthy pig. Ford and I were emptying the cupboards so the kids could see the dishes and such and take them. We're talking a lot of nice things from Japan. Anyway, I opened the drawer and there's not a fork or spoon to be seen. WTF? And then I got looking at the "daily" dishes. Almost all of them are AWOL. So I went downstairs to see if I could spot any. I never have gone into Marvin's room, I don't go into people's bedrooms if their doors are closed. Never. But I had decided to push the door open to see if I could see any dishes. DAMN. I could only open the door a few inches. The room is chest high is GARBAGE. What. The. Hell? He can't be sleeping in there, he must be using the recliner upstairs. No wonder he was upset when we took all the old mattresses away. I think he'd been sleeping on the mattress dad died on.

I thought I was giving the man privacy, not license to make the basement into a toxic dump. I had thought of some money to help him move, but now? Not a dime.

I will wait the 30 days to avoid the legal hassle of evicting a resident. He could become a squatter then and have rights. No fucking way. In two weeks, his time is up and I can legally throw him out. If I have to call the cops, I will. The health department too if that's what it takes.

I hate it when I trust people and they turn out to be a waste if my faith in humanity.