the drama continues
But first, have a kitten:
Things have escalated a bit in the feral cat/Wicked Witch of the Complex saga. I received another letter from her attorney, accusing me of "disorderly conduct," feeding the cats despite three warnings (no warnings were given), keeping litter boxes on my deck for the feral cats (wat), and creating a complex-wide infestation of fleas, endangering the entire population of the community (yes, I'm the flea-whisperer). I was fined another $100 and threatened with eviction. I talked to my attorney, who thought this letter was as much bullshit as the last one. She is sending him a letter. Given that her day job is investigating the judiciary, I imagine it will be a corker. Discretion being the better part of valor, however, I removed the food bowls from the deck. I washed them up and stacked them up on my kitchen counter.
A couple days later, I noticed that one was missing. And that the doorknob lock on the front door was locked (which I never do -- that's my method of knowing when Maintenance has been in my apartment). My paranoia told me someone had come in and taken the bowl. No, I told myself, that's crazy. *sigh*
There are now three kittens left out of a litter of seven. They are being trapped by the maintenance staff, not professional trappers or Animal Control. The trappers are required by law to take the animals to the county shelter, but the shelter has not received them. One of the maintenance guys tried to tell me they were going to a farm. Look, I didn't believe that one when Dad told me Sandy was going to a farm when I was six, and I'm sure as hell not falling for it at the ripe old age of 54. They're either dumping them, killing them or selling them to a lab. Or worse, they're winding up in some sicko's basement having God knows what being done to them.
My attorney suggested I call the NJ Office of Animal Welfare, which I did. I explained the situation, and the woman I spoke to agreed that the situation was problematic. She said she was going to call the complex manager to see if she could determine where the cats were going. Great, right?
The next day, Friday, I was at home when I saw a pickup truck back up to my back deck. A couple of large men got out and got up on my deck. I went to the door and asked them if I could help them with anything. "No," says the one closest to me, and grabs the old shelter I had bought for Sasha and Cricket (who wouldn't have anything to do with it, hence its presence on the deck) and threw it into the truck.
"Excuse me, what are you doing?" I say.
"You were told to stop," he says. He picks up an empty water bowl and throws it into the truck.
"Stop what?"
"You were sent a letter."
"There are no bowls of food on this deck," I say.
"Oh, you want to see bowls?" he says, and opens up a panel on the back of his truck. He pulls out the bowl that had gone missing from my kitchen and holds it up like it was a murder weapon.
"That bowl was in my kitchen and it was empty," I managed to stutter, because I was well and truly scared shitless at this point. They were very big, very angry, and I was by myself.
"Oh, no, it was on the deck and full of food," he smirks, and they get in their truck and drive off.
Yes, I am on a double-dose of Klonopin, how did you know?
I emailed my lawyer. Then I went to the police station. Where I cried in front of a very nice and very young officer who basically told me it was a civil matter and there was nothing he could do. He did say he would call the manager and ask some questions. I'm not holding my breath.
So I went home, and found an answer to my email: CHANGE YOUR LOCKS. (Isabelle is very brief when she's answering on her phone from court.)
I called the locksmith and arranged for them to come out later that afternoon. Then I went to sign the lease on my new place. Moving September 8.
When I got back, the locksmith was there and there was another message from Isabelle: POLICE WERE WRONG. THEFT IS CRIMINAL MATTER.
Well, yeah, but if the cops won't do anything, that doesn't help me. It seems that in practice 1) a landlord can help themselves to their tenant's possessions at will, and 2)the police will not act unless these people threaten me with bodily harm. Believe me, I felt threatened.
Which, I suppose, was the point of the exercise. Because when that guy said "you were told to stop," I don't think he meant stop feeding the cats. I think he meant stop telling people about what is going on here.
I've put up a little sign in my window: PREMISES UNDER ELECTRONIC SURVEILLANCE. RECORDING OFF SITE. The camera arrives on Tuesday. Because I'm scared, mostly for my cats. If they want to get in here, they can change the locks again, but maybe they'll think twice if they think they're being recorded. What if they decide to claim that Sasha and Cricket are feral? What if they disappear, too? *breathing, breathing*
I'm trying to come up with a plan to get my little feral family established in one of the managed colonies nearby. I don't know if it will work, but if the women running the program think it will, I will snatch these little cats up and into a carrier and get them neutered and vaccinated myself. I want them out of here almost as badly as I do myself and Sasha and Cricket. If I can get all of us out of here in one piece, I will consider it a victory, no matter how much money it costs me.
So, here I am, not sleeping, not eating, and popping Klonopin. My friends are telling me to deduct the cost of the items they stole from the rent. As angry as I am about the theft, I do not need the crap that will cause me.
My only concern is to keep myself and all the lifeforms I care about alive and well for the next month. If I have to pay the WW's "unprofessionalism" $2000 penalty, so be it. If I have to pay another $200 for shit I didn't do, so be it. I want the hell out of here.
ETA: Oh, one last detail. When my neighbor heard this story, he got so furious he stormed over to the traps outside the kittens' den, stomped on them, and threw them into the dumpster. No doubt the WW will blame me for the disappearance, but I have to admit, it was cathartic to watch.
Good vibes are appreciated more than ever.
Things have escalated a bit in the feral cat/Wicked Witch of the Complex saga. I received another letter from her attorney, accusing me of "disorderly conduct," feeding the cats despite three warnings (no warnings were given), keeping litter boxes on my deck for the feral cats (wat), and creating a complex-wide infestation of fleas, endangering the entire population of the community (yes, I'm the flea-whisperer). I was fined another $100 and threatened with eviction. I talked to my attorney, who thought this letter was as much bullshit as the last one. She is sending him a letter. Given that her day job is investigating the judiciary, I imagine it will be a corker. Discretion being the better part of valor, however, I removed the food bowls from the deck. I washed them up and stacked them up on my kitchen counter.
A couple days later, I noticed that one was missing. And that the doorknob lock on the front door was locked (which I never do -- that's my method of knowing when Maintenance has been in my apartment). My paranoia told me someone had come in and taken the bowl. No, I told myself, that's crazy. *sigh*
There are now three kittens left out of a litter of seven. They are being trapped by the maintenance staff, not professional trappers or Animal Control. The trappers are required by law to take the animals to the county shelter, but the shelter has not received them. One of the maintenance guys tried to tell me they were going to a farm. Look, I didn't believe that one when Dad told me Sandy was going to a farm when I was six, and I'm sure as hell not falling for it at the ripe old age of 54. They're either dumping them, killing them or selling them to a lab. Or worse, they're winding up in some sicko's basement having God knows what being done to them.
My attorney suggested I call the NJ Office of Animal Welfare, which I did. I explained the situation, and the woman I spoke to agreed that the situation was problematic. She said she was going to call the complex manager to see if she could determine where the cats were going. Great, right?
The next day, Friday, I was at home when I saw a pickup truck back up to my back deck. A couple of large men got out and got up on my deck. I went to the door and asked them if I could help them with anything. "No," says the one closest to me, and grabs the old shelter I had bought for Sasha and Cricket (who wouldn't have anything to do with it, hence its presence on the deck) and threw it into the truck.
"Excuse me, what are you doing?" I say.
"You were told to stop," he says. He picks up an empty water bowl and throws it into the truck.
"Stop what?"
"You were sent a letter."
"There are no bowls of food on this deck," I say.
"Oh, you want to see bowls?" he says, and opens up a panel on the back of his truck. He pulls out the bowl that had gone missing from my kitchen and holds it up like it was a murder weapon.
"That bowl was in my kitchen and it was empty," I managed to stutter, because I was well and truly scared shitless at this point. They were very big, very angry, and I was by myself.
"Oh, no, it was on the deck and full of food," he smirks, and they get in their truck and drive off.
Yes, I am on a double-dose of Klonopin, how did you know?
I emailed my lawyer. Then I went to the police station. Where I cried in front of a very nice and very young officer who basically told me it was a civil matter and there was nothing he could do. He did say he would call the manager and ask some questions. I'm not holding my breath.
So I went home, and found an answer to my email: CHANGE YOUR LOCKS. (Isabelle is very brief when she's answering on her phone from court.)
I called the locksmith and arranged for them to come out later that afternoon. Then I went to sign the lease on my new place. Moving September 8.
When I got back, the locksmith was there and there was another message from Isabelle: POLICE WERE WRONG. THEFT IS CRIMINAL MATTER.
Well, yeah, but if the cops won't do anything, that doesn't help me. It seems that in practice 1) a landlord can help themselves to their tenant's possessions at will, and 2)the police will not act unless these people threaten me with bodily harm. Believe me, I felt threatened.
Which, I suppose, was the point of the exercise. Because when that guy said "you were told to stop," I don't think he meant stop feeding the cats. I think he meant stop telling people about what is going on here.
I've put up a little sign in my window: PREMISES UNDER ELECTRONIC SURVEILLANCE. RECORDING OFF SITE. The camera arrives on Tuesday. Because I'm scared, mostly for my cats. If they want to get in here, they can change the locks again, but maybe they'll think twice if they think they're being recorded. What if they decide to claim that Sasha and Cricket are feral? What if they disappear, too? *breathing, breathing*
I'm trying to come up with a plan to get my little feral family established in one of the managed colonies nearby. I don't know if it will work, but if the women running the program think it will, I will snatch these little cats up and into a carrier and get them neutered and vaccinated myself. I want them out of here almost as badly as I do myself and Sasha and Cricket. If I can get all of us out of here in one piece, I will consider it a victory, no matter how much money it costs me.
So, here I am, not sleeping, not eating, and popping Klonopin. My friends are telling me to deduct the cost of the items they stole from the rent. As angry as I am about the theft, I do not need the crap that will cause me.
My only concern is to keep myself and all the lifeforms I care about alive and well for the next month. If I have to pay the WW's "unprofessionalism" $2000 penalty, so be it. If I have to pay another $200 for shit I didn't do, so be it. I want the hell out of here.
ETA: Oh, one last detail. When my neighbor heard this story, he got so furious he stormed over to the traps outside the kittens' den, stomped on them, and threw them into the dumpster. No doubt the WW will blame me for the disappearance, but I have to admit, it was cathartic to watch.
Good vibes are appreciated more than ever.