Jiggety Jig

As I landed in Nashville Saturday afternoon, I became painfully aware that in my seven month absence I had become more familiar with San Diegan terrain than ever I had been with Tennessean turf. But however unfamiliar the cityscape, the landscape was heartening: lush green trees unlike anything California has to offer suggested the possibility of rain. I’ve missed the rains.

On the ride home my thoughts turned to the necessary business of my homecoming. I would soon have to return to work, having run through my savings in San Diego. There would be no cable, phone, or internet access at the apartment; my roommate had disconnected each when he accepted a job outside of Nashville before my return. Care of our apartment, and my roommate’s cat, were now left to me. Vacation was over; it was time to resume my responsible adult life. It was a reality too soon realized.

Outside the apartment, a heaping mass of alien green goo lined my walkway. Mix equal parts cement, large-curd cottage cheese, and green paint in a large bucket, tip the bucket and walk 20 paces and you’ve got the image. Inside the apartment, the scene was no prettier. My plants were dead, the air conditioner was on the fritz, and my roommate's cat, a 26-pound behemoth too fat to clean herself, had soiled every inch of our rented carpet. The cat, too, was caked in her own filth. Despite a friend’s attempts to spot-clean before my arrival, the devastation was total. Within the hour, I was firing up the SteamVac. In Nashville. With no air conditioning. Welcome home.

Usually, I’m an animal lover. Dogs, cats, llamas, don’t care. But Joseph’s cat is the exception. I’ve hated the noisy, smelly creature since day one. And I hated her doubly as I remembered that the deposit required to keep her had never been paid. When management comes knocking for damage monies at the end of our lease, I’m going to regret having ever put my name on that document.

Saturday and Sunday were given exclusively to cleaning the entry level of our three-story townhome: living room, dining room, and kitchen. By Monday morning I was seeing improvement, but I had not progressed to other floors when I called maintenance about the air conditioning. Charging the unit is outdoor work, so there would be no fear of anyone entering the apartment.

The matter was handled promptly and the apartment became slowly cooler as the day progressed. But when I quieted the cleaning machinery Monday night, I could hear the tell-tale drip from the hall closet. The AC unit inside the house was leaking now. A lot. I might have noticed the wet floor earlier had I not been soaking it myself with cleaning fluid at the time. While I had been busy not noticing it, it had been busy leaking through to the basement below. Where the cat had made the largest, smelliest messes. Where her food and litter live. Where she was hiding from the noise above. Filthy beast. Now I had a maintenance problem that would require letting someone into the house, and a house that required keeping them out.

On Tuesday, day four, I paid someone else to clean the cat while I moved my own cleaning operations downstairs. By the end of the day, I’d steamed the apartment from top to bottom. Though I’d managed to eliminate the worst of the stains, many refused to be removed. And the source of an unrelenting odor remains a mystery. Odds are, it’s coming from the furniture. Damned cat. But by Wednesday I was comfortable enough, considering the urgency, to call maintenance about the small lake forming in my hallway.

By Wednesday I had also moved my computer upstairs and had a phone line installed so that I could rejoin the online community through the blistering speed of dial-up internet access. I’m a wild woman, I know. That process, begun Monday, took three days to complete. Who knew that you had to request touch tone service? Or that having a name delivered to your caller ID box with the number costs a dollar more than having the number delivered alone.

Having my office upstairs, though, is already a great improvement. Now I’ll only have to venture into the cat’s domain long enough to feed her and clean the cat box each day; and she’s not allowed to enter mine at all.