Other People's Houses
On Chameleons, Cats & Other Responsibilities
It was that weird depressing time of year after Christmas where nothing’s happening, everybody’s away somewhere on vacation or visiting family and we were stuck in Los Angeles with no family or friends around, two bored kids, a dwindling bank account, and my husband had broken his ankle and was not in a great mood when my dear friend who lives in Malibu asked if we were interested in pet/housesitting for her dear friends in Malibu who also happened to be rather famous and live in a pretty swanky mansion. I probably shouldn’t name names. We said yes please and packed our bags.
This family had a new puppy, very cute and sweet and energetic. They also had a very beloved cute chameleon called John who came with detailed care instructions because caring for a lizard is quite complex it turns out, and they need to have their temperature regulated or they get too cold and die. No pressure. Also I have trouble with instructions.
The sweet, cute puppy was an absolute bundle of joy but also very very fast and soon discovered it was a really fun game to race for the front door and he became and determined to escape whenever we accidentally left it open a crack and then pound his little puppy paws straight up the hill of the insanely steep looooong driveway that led directly into traffic. Now this driveway was one of the ways this famous person that lived there kept famously fit, dragging tyres on a rope from the bottom to the top of it daily multiple times (hot fit tip). I, however, was a musician and not famously fit at all and if you could have seen me chasing this crazy fast little death wish puppy up the driveway multiple times you would have felt very sorry for me. After the second time in an hour, while I was still catching my breath, my son informed me that John the chameleon was missing.
We looked and looked but that’s the thing with chameleons, they are very hard to spot. I texted the owners and asked for suggestions of favourite hiding places and was informed that there was no place John loved more than the gigantic 8 foot real pine Christmas tree, groaning with decorations. After a panicked forty five minutes of hunting through the pine needles, we found him in there, up too high to easily retrieve. It was imperative we retrieve him or he might not survive. John was morally against the concept of retrieval and was turning a funny colour, a dangerous colour, during this standoff. I stood on a chair and awkwardly chased him down and finally got him back in his safe place.
Then my husband with his broken ankle slipped in the spacious shower and was in a lot of pain and couldn’t move off the couch much after that and required caring for. Then the puppy got out again (that’s the trouble with bringing small children with you while pet sitting, not a lot of door shutting responsibility, and a lot of outdoor temptations such as a trampoline). This time he headed down the rolling hills of the gigantic backyard. It seemed I was at a surreal puppy/lizard-led bootcamp. That’s probably a thing in LA actually, and if it’s not, maybe it should be.
While we were there, we also somehow manage to smash 3 wine glasses and a few beautiful and no doubt expensive bowls and plates, which was stressful (even though the owners were very kind and laidback). We also had to deal with a few odd people coming by claiming to be employees that had tasks to do that the owners said did not need to be there, and it was tricky to keep them out - anyway, my point is, although its always fun to step into someone else’s world, other people’s houses can be a lot more work than you might expect, even if they’re more glamorous than your own.
While we were away recently, our friend LJ came to stay, to feed the cats that basically came with the house when we moved in. Its a long cat story, perhaps for another time, but a couple of them are now domesticated and sleep inside most of the time, one has some kind of mental confusion issue and just hovers anxiously near the back door but is fast as lightning and we can’t get near her and one just slinks in for breakfast and dinner and then runs and hides. Anyway, we currently feel responsible for feeding 4 cats and so LJ agreed to look after the kitties because she has family in town and lives out of town so it all worked out rather well.
Except that poor LJ had to contact us and let us know that during the humid heatwave that Sydney had just endured, a million fleas had exploded from their eggs and moved into our couch and surrounds. We had seen one flea a couple of months before we left and had acted immediately to get the house de-flea-d which had seemed a possible over reaction but I didn’t want to take any chances with those little f**kers. I can only imagine what it might have been like if we hadn’t taken those precautions. Luckily LJ was well experienced with the joys of pets and fleas and dealt with it best she could but she showed us photographs of bowls of water she’d cunning placed around the house (with a candle to lure fleas and detergent to drown them) that were simply swarming and her legs were covered in angry red bites. We managed to get a professional flea killer in pretty quick but then LJ took fleas home with her in her car and we had to send one there too. She was very gracious but I can’t imagine house sitting is high on her to-do list right now…. (sorry and thank you LJ!) We got home from our 15 hour flight and spent the next six hours vacuuming the bejesus out of the house, mowing the lawn, washing every cushion and sheet and blanket in sight before collapsing.
I’ve spent a lot of time in other people’s houses, as a guest, in Air BnBs, in my time as a house cleaner long ago and while working as a professional house packer/unpacker. For a while there my family and I were on the move constantly - we racked up something like 17 houses that we rented or stayed in for a month or more - some were empty and others came with their owner’s belongings and furniture and were like stepping into someone else’s life and trying to carve yourself a space in there. It’s kind of fascinating and disorientating and fun and sometimes just bewildering - why on earth would they keep their glasses or their towels or whatever there? Why would you buy polyester sheets? How am I meant to cook with that? Why don’t they have a curtain! It always amazes me how we are all so fundamentally similar and yet so individually peculiar…
The houses had so many things in them yet still so much space.
He like to rub his feet quickly on the thick pile then touch a door knob with one finger and give himself a small electric shock.
In the first house they always went straight to the refrigerator.
There were things in there he couldn't imagine anyone ever eating - strange looking pastes in jars and horrible concoctions in plastic…..
Other People’s Houses by Paul Kelly
I recall staying in someone else’s apartment with my friend where we got completely freaked out after discovering the book and movie collection was all rather, ahem, erotic (really just kind of pervy) and we got ourselves all worked up thinking there were cameras planted everywhere and so we showered with our underwear on for safety and changed under the sheets and couldn’t wait to get the hell out of there.
Another Air BnB in New Orleans where I stayed with my folks and my kids came with a party light switch that was wired up to turn the place into a den of iniquity - all the lights in the place dimmed at once and soft sultry music started snaking out the speakers. That place came with a spa bath that we studiously avoided. I’m surprised the door lock wasn’t activated at the same time.
Its great to get away and move around and go places, but sometimes, there really is no place like home.
https://twitter.com/ijustine/status/1154125203695427585
Tell me your house-sitting/sharing horror stories!
You're braver than me Lo.
I hate staying in other peoples spaces. Find it hard to relax and hard not to snoop. Loose a day trying to clean and restore their space before they return. Been there and done that. I'm happy to sleep on their couch or spare bed while they are there controlling the spaceship, but don't leave me alone and hope I'll get it right.
I'm the same with my place. It's a handbuilt cobbled together abode that needs a lot of prior knowledge to operate. The symbols on the oven have long since been polished off. I just know which knob does what and that 6 o'clock is about 180 C. There are 3 remotes near the not-so-smart TV and I know the order to press to get both image and sound to work. Don't turn the toaster and the coffee machine on at the same time. The fuse will trip...the list goes on and I didn't even get to the demented cats demands.
It's no better with my transport. My car won't go into reverse unless it sits in neutral for a while first-a known issue with the model, but not known to the uninitiated. My motorbike comes from an Italian factory which in the words of a bike magazine "...employed too many artists and not enough engineers" I hate to borrow someone else's car for similar reasons. I just know that the clutch will die or the gearbox will shit itself as soon as I drive away. There'll be awkward conversations about who's responsible and the good mechanic who 'knows' the car.
As I re-read this I can see that I'm sounding like a nervous man lacking generosity. That maybe true but I hope not. After 70 years I've just come to the conclusion that happiness on the road is a cheap motel and a rent-a-wreck.
And such a beautiful song, that one.