California No, Big Cats, and Page Six

[faustfatale]

I’ve spent the past nine days in a hell of apartment hunting for my pop. We’ve been encountering a lot of what I refer to as the “California no.” Instead of just saying no, Californians simply hide and refuse to return phone calls. I would much rather deal with a fellow New Yorker who tells me to go fuck myself than deal with these non-confrontational California chickenshits. Out of the, say, 50 listings we’ve called on, we heard back from less than a quarter.

The other baffling thing I’ve been dealing with is the “pet friendly” issue. My dad has two extremely shy cats. They’re like ghosts, you never really see them. You only catch an occasional glimpse out of the corner of your eye. They don’t scratch or spray. All in all they are excellent tenants. But we have now had three separate people (who listed their property as pet friendly) ask “how big” the cats are. How big? What do you mean how big? They’re cats, not lions. Unlike dogs, adult cats are all pretty much the same basic size give or take a few pounds of belly. So what, if the cats are too fat you won’t rent to him? Wouldn’t fat lazy cats make better tenants than small, rambunctious kittens?

In MONEY SHOT news, I got a gossip column nod in the New York Post, on page six.