house-sitting: a paradigm shift

It must be said that house-sitting is more attractive as a gig when you live, as I do, in a leaky, damp, cold, mushroom-sprouting festerment on the heart of the Downtown EastSide rather than, say, a $25million-dollar oceanfront mansion on the North Shore. Although I still bet I get more seawater than they do: I sea it dribbling down the walls, for god’s sake.

In any case, there is nothing I enjoy so much as the vicarious pleasure of having, if only for the moment, two homes. It’s not quite “should we open the Rio house this weekend?” but it’s getting there.

After cleaning out the fridge, the greatest pleasure is turning their animals. You left thinking Fluffy would never forget you. If you engaged me as a house-sitter, trust me, Fluffy has long since forgotten you, figuring that she’s traded up. Whatever her species (other than fish. Live fish are simply pre-sushi in my worldview) Fluffy now loves me more than she loves you. I’m sorry you had to find out this way, but it’s better you know now than later. The current Fluffy-incumbent at Lydia‘s house not only worships me, she thinks I can make the six inches of snow we are currently enjoying go away; in other words, she thinks I am a god. Is it any wonder I enjoy pet-sitting?

Seriously, though, this poor cat. She’s more disappointed in her god than anyone in history.  Eloi, eloi, lama sabachthami . Every 45 minutes (her internal timer is extremely accurate; either that or she can tell time, and those Orientals are like, way smart) she runs to the door and causes a fuss, so I obligingly open said door, saying “Dude, it’s still Canada out there” and she looks out, looks up at me with a “well, what are you going to do about it” look, and then gives up. As so many of us, faced with the greater questions of faith and causality, do.

But it is fun to convert a “she doesn’t take to strangers” animal into a lap-purring cuddle machine inside of three hours. If only I had that knack with people…

Sandra Bullock said that the key to success with men is to do the little hair toss thingy and follow it up with “I have three million dollars in my checking account.” I shall practice in front of a mirror for future use and report back on my success.

12 thoughts on “house-sitting: a paradigm shift

  1. Fluffy…bigger than Jesus
    Apparently.
    Or at least more disappointed.
    Still, I admire you holiness…oh wait..no, that’s Popes.
    Eminence?
    Splendiferousness?
    Bugger it.
    Your rainy coastery ness.
    I never believed in you anyway.

  2. Y’know–I always had a problem with that idea. An omnipotent, omniscient, and omnibenevolent God killed his own son/himself for my sins–(mine specifically?). Or at the very least handed him over.

    But–couldn’t he have avoided, y’know, the whole business of having to manifest himself as human and then get tortured to death by just making up his mind that I wouldn’t do any of those sinful things? Seems to lack efficiency, this guy. Bit of a drama queen, really.

    Also, he seems to disapprove, if I get his followers’ rantings right, of sex, drinking, dancing, and not wearing funny hats. Not to mention uncovered women (a consummation most devoutly to be wished, from where I stand), pork, and Jews, Muslims, Christians …

    And if you incur his displeasure, he has this place called “hell” planned for you, where you will be on fire, raped by demons, or possibly simply vanish. For ever. Anyway, he won’t let you into his house.

    Unless you take him home and make him yours. And tell your friends. And spend the rest of your life not doing things in his name (often while doing other, equally vile things in his). The rest of your life, spent on your knees. Then he might forgive you and let you chill in his crib after you snuff it.

    Raincoaster doesn’t mind if you smoke or drink–hell, she might even join you. Like the tide “might” rise. I’m fairly sure she’s okay with the dancing and nude ladies (or equivalent), too.

    But–and as Orson Welles said, it’s a big but: IF you manage to offend her she will NOT send you to be set fire to by demons. She may pout until her face cracks, she might not speak to you for simply ages. But she won’t actually throw you into her own lake of fire.

    In fact, she is quite likely to eventually forgive you even without sustained begging. And then you can come to her place and hang out, like. And drink and smoke (on the patio, anyway).

    That’s pretty big of her, doncha think?

    Certainly bigger than Jesus.

  3. And hey, RC. the line about three million dollars may result in the death of your suitors from consumptive snickering.And if you give your hair a toss, I’d attach it to your wrist with a long rope–otherwise a stray dog or something might make off with it.

  4. he seems to disapprove, of Muslims,…..…welcome to the team god . A thunderbolt on the British Muslim Council and other Terrorist felow travellers and you may get an alleluya out of me

  5. Yeah, well Sandra Bullock hasn’t always had three million dollars in the bank either. And raincoaster certainly does disapprove of smoking and certainly won’t be joining you in it.

    newmania, don’t you realize by now you’re the ONLY one around here who disapproves of Muslims.

  6. I could not give a ….um are we allowed to swear here?I disappprove of their miliatarism,their bombing campaigns their loathing for homosexuals and their Nazi beliefs about the Jews . I disapprove of their arrogant request for Sharia law in Walthamstow , I disapprove of the BMC`s threats regarding our foreign policy. I disapprove of their rampant woman hating , liberty hating and violence . I disapprove , if thats the right world of the genocidal extermination of 400,000 black Christians by the Islamic racists in Sudan and belive me I could go on. and on and on

    Find the Infidel and slay him R .

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