In August of 2020 my wee family that had been occupying the bottom floor of my house, moved out for larger quarters which they desperately needed. We had a great rhythm, minded our Ps & Qs and when covid hit and we locked down, we had a houseful and really enjoyed each other's company.
We had Sunday night dinners where we took turns dressing up as one of us
Admittedly I was somewhat devastated after they left but was able to, after a week or so, turn my sadness to gratitude for having my son initially, then his wife and soonafter sons, be daily fixtures in my life.
For financial reasons I needed to rent out the space - a cute 1 bdrm & den suite. Garage access which is probably more suited to a guy. You even get half the double garage!
I had a couple viewings and on the third I found myself quite anxious about the guy coming to see the place. I remember almost wanting to call it off. When he arrived Tom (name changed) seemed quite personable. He'd had a bad go of things once covid hit. Lost his job, marriage broke up so he decided to move back to the west coast where he had a son from a previous relationship. Once the way his truck broke down, tools got stolen. You get the picture. I commented, wow the universe is sure kicking your butt. He agreed! Went on to tell me how he's started reading some books on that subject. Self-help, karma and the like. At 43 his life was kind of a mess and he was desperate for a place.
Being an empath I associated my anxiety before his arrival to be me picking up on his energy. While we chatted I decided to go with what was being presented (ref The Surrender Experiment by Michael Singer) and offered him the place. As he was tight for money I agreed to a lower damage deposit even though he had a small dog. Tom also needed furniture. I happened to have and provided him with a queen size bed, small couch, coffee table, 2 chairs/table and a couple area rugs. I'm a compassionate person and I feel called to be of service to those in need.
It didn't take long to realize what a grand mistake I'd made.
My first inkling was when I went into the garage and found he'd helped himself to some of my spare furniture to put his drywall tools on (one item was my grandmother's delicate end table). I quickly hid the table and put his tools on the ground quite clearly marking the territory. In the days following I created a wall down the middle of the garage as he clearly didn't understand boundaries.
Barely 15 minutes later I went to attend to my laundry - it's a shared space. Well Tom had taken my clothes out of the washer and ran the dryer thinking he was being helpful. I wanted to scream and yell "Don't touch my shit!". Seriously who does that?
Instead I firmly said: Please don't do that. Some of my clothes are to be hung dry. I'm very attentive and it won't stay there long if you're in need of the machines.
His reply: My ex-wife didn't like that either.
My response: in my head only Then why would you do that with my clothes? Duffus!*
*a foolish person as exhibited by extraordinarily bad choices
Later I commented to my fella, I don't understand your species. If you saw I had removed my stuff and put yours on the floor, why would you then move something else? An alien species at times me thinks.
Tom also had a very loud booming voice and liked to talk on speaker phone. Inside and Out. Or watch a hockey game outside. Many an August evening I spent inside with the windows closed just to avoid the details, complete with f-bombs, booming through the neighbourhood. We all knew Tom's troubles.
He removed the door to the bedroom citing he didn't need it which was fine. However he chose to put it outside under a tarp shelter. When I noticed this I moved to the garage for safe winter storage. Otherwise I'd have no door that fit the space when he left (which was now something I had begun to think about).
I put the garden hose away in the latter part of October as Tom always forgot to turn the water off at the tap. We were getting some frosty nights and I didn't need a hose splitting because a forty-odd-year-old man from central Canada didn't seem to be aware of that possibility.
It was late November when I was stowing my collection of garden ornaments safely in the shelter of the garage that Tom mentioned a mouse problem. He said he'd bought a trap but it was too small for the mouse. He gestured the size of rodent he'd seen. That's a rat I said.
Turns out Tom was leaving garbage in the garage. The house backs onto a creek which ups the popularity of the area for rat families and as Tom tended to leave the garage door slightly open (turns out that was his smoking area) and they sniffed out his cache. He said he'd take care of it.
This is when I began to realize that Tom was a talk-but-no-action person. I used to be married to one of those. Doesn't mesh with my configuration.
A week or so later when my daughter and I heard the scuttling in the walls I set up rat traps and caught a brown one within a couple days. Note: this is against my belief as a somewhat-practicing Buddhist. However I needed to set a boundary. I let Tom know the problem was taken care of.
Tom let me know he'd be away for a week before Christmas. The day after he left I noticed poop in the shared laundry area, furnace room - and without venturing too far - throughout the suite. Dude was living like this. Then, right in front of me, Ratatouille ran from the bathroom to the furnace room. I screamed, booked it upstairs, slamming the door behind me blocking any access.
My daughter ran block with a tennis racquet in hand as I vacuumed the entire place. We set traps and patiently waited. Next day I went to check on the traps. One was gone... no trap, no rat. Next day, no further droppings. Seems we got him, but where was he?
When Tom returned I talked to him about a number of things (condition of place on the top of the list) and mentioned the rat may have crawled off stuck in the trap and he may want to check the pile of clothes adjacent to the furnace room... Sure enough he felt inclined to text me a picture of the black fella. A confirmation it had been found would have sufficed.
We muddled through the next few months and I prayed to the rental gods that he would move out. I felt uncomfortable with him in my home and only did laundry when he was out working for the day which became a rarity in the winter. I bought more underwear and socks so I didn't have to brave the shared area.
The final straw came when Tom mentioned 'your' fridge is leaking. My first thought was the upstairs appliance was leaking and coming through the ceiling in the suite. He went on to say he'd put a towel down a week ago and now it was getting quite wet and he had to put down more towels. I still envisioned damage somewhere. I asked that he defrost the fridge as a first step in case there was ice build-up or the like. He said he would do that.
I was stressing the laminate flooring was damaged as I hadn't clarified if the leak was interior or exterior. The next morning I thought I'd take a quick peek to ease my mind. Tom was actually at work so the coast was clear.
I went to the freezer first as that's where ice build-up would be. There wasn't ice build-up but there was a dead rabbit's head with-no-face in the freezer door. WHAT THE FUCK?!! I ran back upstairs, grabbed my phone and took a photo. Seriously, what's with this guy...
My sons were freaked out I was living alone in the house with this dude down below. This guy had to go.
I left him a letter the next day giving him 4 months to vacate. I would be renovating the upstairs kitchen and bathroom in preparation to sell my house and would need use of the downstairs facilities. Once that was complete my daughter would be occupying the space.
Thankfully there was no push-back. I said I'd be happy to provide a reference...
One evening not long after the rabbit-head find, Tom was having the usual speaker phone conversation as he paced about the floor below. I thought I might as well and surrender and have a listen. As the universe would have it just at that moment Tom bellowed Hey Fitzy really liked that rabbit head. Oh my lord he was feeding it to that scraggly little terrior dog of his. Personally I would not touch it. I did once and did a full hand scrub afterwards. I don't think that dog had been bathed in years, poor little fella.
At least I had my answer to the freakish surprise in his freezer. I was not in danger.
Tom left within 2 months. I was getting anxious awaiting his departure sensing the condition of the place. I can't say I was surprised... the place hadn't been vacuumed in months; beverages had been spilled with no clean up and he even had the gall to take a few of the furnished items.
But he was gone and I would no longer be subject to the sight of him in his tighty-whities taking his dog out for a poop...
