Mi casa es su funhouse

Nothing like writing out instructions for a house sitter to make you question if you live like normal people.

Exhibit A:

Sometimes, especially in the evenings, Mendoza will get a toy or some clothes and drag them around the apartment, crying out. I don't know why he does it, but I usually just call back, What is it? Bring it! until he drops a sock or fuzzy mouse at my feet.

Many evenings Mendoza will get a toy or some clothes and strew them around the apartment, crying out. I don't know why he does it, but I just call back, What is it? Bring it! until he drops a sock or fuzzy mouse at my feet.

Exhibit B:

I have a George Foreman Grill that I use almost daily. I keep it in the oven, so if you want to use the oven make sure you take the grill out first.

I keep my George Foreman Grill in the oven.

Other evidence (not pictured):

The cats like to drink out of beer steins (particularly the Hooters one), so make sure they’re always topped up.

Morning is a time of uncontainable excitement for Noodle. He will try and wake you in a variety of ways, which historically have included:  raking nails across the leaves of my bedside book to create loud fan effect; rattling the balsawood garbage bin against the side of the dresser so I am woken to tribal beats; crawling on my chest and purring frantically on both the inhale and exhale while training his eyes on my lids for any movement at all; and my personal favourite, jimmying the hallway door open and slamming it shut repeatedly until I have to get up even if only to put a pillow in the door jamb.

Do not, under any circumstances, water the rubber tree. If you do it will never drain. Like a reverse and slackened black hole, water will leak out of the bottom for days.

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1 Comment

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One response to “Mi casa es su funhouse

  1. Pingback: On solitude « Personal S.A.

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