Discussed...thoughts on landlords.
with disgust and disdain.
This will be a more informal post. Welcome to the vomit of emotional processing. The goal is not to disprove, but to question why—on Gaia’s green Earth—is this how this works.
On 12/29/22, I received an email from my landlord stating that “it has come to her attention that…” And that’s all I could read. I saw the attachments of photos, but did not dare open them. The subject line reading:
Stray Cats.
I manically text my husband, angry and upset.
“how dare she, like what the actual fuck.” “what is wrong with her.” “why would that be in the lease agreement?" “eviction?!” “…it just feels less like home now.”
Yup. I was beside myself. But, before we totally dive in, let me offer you this: I am, technically and legally, in the wrong. And in the state of GA tenants have few rights as it is, let alone avenues for any helpful change on that front. So, there it is. I am wrong in all the ways that feed our power structures.
Therefore, that’s not what we’re talking about. I want to talk about how that made me feel. Buckle up.
First of all, fuck landlords. Plain and simple. I don’t care what your intention is; I don’t care that you’re trying to survive; I don’t care that you’re grandfathered in; I don’t care the outside pressure/expectation; I don’t care how you feel about my feelings about this. Landlords. Are. Not. Good.
Even the name is insane. You LORD o’er this land? There is no title for you, no standing to provide. Therefore, the financial gain through the WITHHOLDING OF PROPERTY FROM ANOTHER NEEDING INDIVIDUAL is wrong. You may be in different lanes of wrong, varying degrees, small percentages.
Still. Wrong.
Ethically…as it were. I understand that we are often forced into choices that we don’t love. Things that don’t quite align with us but capitalism, capitalizes, no? Right.
But, no. Not right. If you have a second home that you can afford to upkeep and to rent out, instead of selling, then you are not in need of that property. That’s it. That’s extra. There is a crisis of not enough homes, no?
Do you understand the insanity of this principle is so widely accepted that it was the driving vehicle behind the “benevolent chosen one” plot line of Fable 3?
In order to “save the kingdom’s people against the big evil” you NOT ONLY had to do the general RPG combat systems of leveling up and choosing your good/evil path. One had to ALSO keep the kingdom’s economy afloat. Not directly, but your character had to earn money. A series of mini games in differing crafting positions like blacksmithing, cooking, bartending, etc. So this wasn’t something you could just farm. You had to play the mini game, and literally work. Guess what. You can’t work your way, in the game, to earning enough money to save the kingdom. You had to buy property. All of it. And charge rent.
I’m a romantic. Therefore, I bought out all the property and upgraded them to the max with the mid-range of rent. Eventually, one could buy a business and take profit from that, but that is…stealing? Yup, just checking. So, yea.
I say all this to say…I don’t get it.
Back to cats.
Contained in that email I dared not read was a threat of eviction, if caught again. That bothers me less than the fact that I was told what I can and cannot do. Not for any petty reasoning of “I’m an adult, fuck off.” But, more of…I’ve interacted with this person twice in person. They don’t live here, and also no where NEAR our building. So, why do you get to dictate what’s going on in a community you don’t participate in?
We face a lane with multiple surrounding homes. It’s almost like we’re caddy-corner boxed in with a small lane to provide some breathing room. It’s a tight fit though, to be sure. You’re forced to get to know your neighbors, and for the most part, they’re nice.
Except the lady upstairs, Pam. Pam wears a flat bill hat. We don’t like Pam.
So, I love to sit on my porch. There is some of the street to see, people walking their dogs, and a WHOLE community of community/stray cats.
When we first moved in, there was little interaction outside of the collective:
“whoa! did you see the [insert orange, black, tabby, calico, gremlin, bobtail] one?” “ya he is cute.” “he’s prolly a fuckhead.” “truly.”
Eventually, obviously, I not only got to know these kitties, I began to bond with them regardless of what I knew from my lease and the nature of stray/feral/community cats. I named them:
Bob: bobtail cat, duh, old. doesn’t really hang out on our side. Orange and white.
Misu: OG, tiny (7lbs max), will show off sometimes by launching herself up a tree; will fuck up a dog. A Xerox copy of the old girl across the street. Hangs out on our side. Calico w/vertical stripes within tri-color splotches.
Ol’girl/Grumpy Misu: Misu’s mom? Hangs out on other side.
Lawrence/Chicken: entirely pathetic. Likely one of Misu’s partners. Orange tabby.
Beefy Cat/Penis face: Sylvester looking butthead of a tomcat, a unit of a cat, largest balls I’ve ever seen, naps frequently on our side. DEFintely one of Misu’s partners. Black and white w/socks.
Pretty Boi: a Misu offspring. The only survivor of that litter. Orange “tabby” but the stripes were vertical. Absolutely stunning boi.
Greta Goblin: half a tail having talker. She’s the only one that has EVER let me pet her. And I’m more than certain she was someone’s cat before hand. Beautiful eyes, goblin body, gorgeous personality. Independent. Standard issue cat (grey/white/black-ish tabby).
Mable: our first Torti! She’s a skiddish girl, but she is smart, tiny, a Misu offspring from the second litter of our residence. Hangs out on our side. Tortoise shell
Little Fox: a mix of Pretty Boi and Lawrence, this boi is FLOOFY. Outrageously talkative, squealy. Leads me to believe that he has some Maine Coon in him, maybe a bit of Rag Doll in personality. While Greta made the first move, Little Fox chills on the porch with me.
Here’s the thing, y’all. I know, I’m in the wrong here. I shouldn’t have bonded with these kitties. I should have looked away, but I couldn’t.
That’s against every fiber of my being. I was raised, essentially, pagan. Offshoots of old Germanic tales, Grimm’s, and a lot of moral lessons. I did not grow up in a modern way. I was raised by, at least, a generation before your parents. Raised by a woman who lived after WW2. Who loved animals as much as I did. Who understood the environment makes the home. It is more than the space you sleep, more than you occupy, it is the space you can potentially pollute. This is harder for a more American sentiment.
But—I digress.
I didn’t feel at home anymore.
I didn’t feel, like I could participate in what FELT like home for me…
anymore.
I understand that this is irrational. But if you are unwilling to see the good in:
Gaining the trust of these animals; then capturing these animals to:
neuter,
spay,
de-flea,
de-worm,
vaccinate.
You understand.