Death of a Landlord (Part 1)

Imagine finding your landlord seated upright on his couch, in his loft, in the "apartment" above your house, naked. Dead.

Mmmm. Yummy picture to paint as I eat my lunch. But yes, this did, in fact, happen. Truth be told, it was my roommate (an acting EMT) who found him, and his rat terrier - whose poop on the floor led us to believe the landlord had been dead 24 hours.

I got a call the second I came out of the back country with my husband, and upon returning home, set out to a) deal with a rat terror (pun intended) who barked and whined if anyone closed their eyes, and b) clean up the upstairs apartment before the landlord's widow came up from their home in southern California.

The house was no small task. Our landlord was a hoarder (his widow still is), a 'recovering alcoholic', and the worst diabetic ever. In the house I found: a vat of "kool-aide", (a mixture of red-something and whiskey) spilled ALL over the kitchen floor and cupboards, empty and half-empty cans of soda adorning every surface imaginable and unimaginable, half-eaten cups of yogurt- spoon still in, cookies, needles, 50 games worth of scrabble pieces in a box, 6 bags of misc. trash, soup in the bottom of the kitchen sink (a week old?) ... you get the idea.

So my friend and I scrubbed and scrubbed.

The house was pretty clean. The widow calls and says she'll be up in a week. A WEEK. And then cries and says that everyone must think she left him up there to die (she did, we do think that), and everyone must think she is horrible (yup).

*Flash back to a week before* Our roommate (EMT) hears a thud above his head, calls 911, breaks into the upstairs and saves the landlord's life. He fell out of bed in a diabetic event and would have died if nobody got to him in time. Hum. Widow, where were ya after that?

Not to mention, this guy has no driver's license (taken away due to irresponsible management of diabetes), and his wife dropped him off over a month prior to fish, and hadn't been back since. The man was alone, un-resupplied, living like a child on diabetes, for over a MONTH. Awesome.

We take care of her dog until she decides to show up.

She, her adopted son, and adopted son's girlfriend arrive to deal with the mess (that wasn't there, because I cleaned it). We get a short thank you and then they all proceed to drink and hang out for a few days. She tells us that the house we are paying rent in is paid off, so luckily she can live off of the rent we are paying (and her job as an emergency room nurse), since she will really be missing the monthly payments they  received for landlord's health issues. Then they boogie.

A week or two later, we meet Charlie, the "handyman". Let's just say their floor/our ceiling is not very thick and he is more than a handyman. He's not even attractive, and has the vibe of an uncle that hugs too much and knows a lot about outdated technology. Negative 5 points on the 'keepin' it classy' scale, landlady. But whatever. Maybe she is finally getting to experience her mid-life crisis that she never had with her diabetic husband. I shouldn't judge people for finding someone and wanting to do like rabbits.

But I do judge, quickly, and that's no secret.

That's it for this installment. For part 2, we get into the "spa" business. It just gets better ...