My housemate from hell
IT’s every student’s nightmare – living with someone you just can’t stand. Leon Saw shares his experience with his particularly catty housemate from hell.
I have the housemate from hell.
She doesn’t pay her share of the bills, freeloads off everyone else in the house, doesn’t clean up after herself and when I’m sitting on the couch, leaps onto my lap and starts licking…herself.
Before moving to Australia for further education, I was mildly apprehensive about living with strangers. I envisioned having housemates who ate, lived and used the toilet like animals.
It never crossed my mind that one of them would actually be an animal.
That’s right, I’m taking about a pet, not a person, in case you hadn’t figured that out yet!
Shortly after arriving in Melbourne, I decided to check out a a spare room a friend had available in her home.
“Oh, I hope you like cats because we’ve got a cat in the house,” she said, right before opening the door.
I shrugged, and said, “Well, as long as it doesn’t poop all over the place.”
Nothing untowards happened on that fateful day, but the damned creature must have been on the other side of the door eavesdropping, because within a week of moving in, I awoke to the pungent stench of fresh feline dung permeating the house.
“Foolish human, this territory belongs to me and I do as I desire,” I imagined her proclaiming, before bursting into rapturous, baleful laughter – complete with lightning flashes and thunder claps.
But after showing me who was boss, “the evil queen” thankfully didn’t leave me any other nasty surprises, and we steered well clear of each other until my other housemates went away.
In their absence, I had been instructed to feed the thing and had, like any obedient serf would, religiously filled the food bowl, terrified of incurring the terrible wrath of royalty.
One evening, the cat called out at me while I was lounging on the sofa.
“Well there’s food in the dish and water in the container so I really don’t know you want,” I remarked aloud.
She then pounced on me and planted her head against my chest.
“Human! I want cuddles! Give me cuddles now,” was what she said.. Or at least, that’s what I imagined she meant.
And so began our abusive relationship – and my life of crime.
You see, occasionally after emotionally blackmailing me to let her out into the garden, the stupid thing would get into fights with the neighbour’s feline. One particularly nasty fight resulted in a costly trip to the vet, who advised it was illegal to let Her Highness wander outside unsupervised and unrestrained, especially after dark.
A search on the pets section of the Victorian State Government Department of Primary Industries website confirmed this, and my multiple unwitting breaches of the law.
Following my rather embarrassing case of exploitation by cat, the silly ball of fur was (and is) now more or less permanently confined indoors. And whenever she whinges at me about not being able to get out of the house, she gets a (relatively) harmless splash of water, which sends her scurrying for cover.
Yet she still often demands cuddles, and I still almost always oblige.
I did say it was an abusive relationship, didn’t I?
Moral of the story? Never love cats.
Well not too much at least.
Do you have a housemate you just can’t stand too? Share your stories below.