Since Jon is gone for a week on an out-of-town work project, I decided to open the little bedroom door, and air out Lora’s room a bit. Opening a door that has been closed for two weeks was like catnip to the cats. They are darted right in to see what amazing, crazy, fantastic things must have been going on beyond that mysterious closed door.
Turns out, what’s been going on is bugs. In the few days that I wasn’t in there, gnats found some old food among the detritus on her desk, and had themselves a little feast.
At this point, I thought “Fuck it. I’m cleaning up all the garbage in this room, so it doesn’t happen again”. I told Jon about the bugs, and the cleaning, and he agreed that was the best idea – especially since Lora has repeatedly broken her “I’m going to come and clean things up ASAP” thing that she keeps saying.
After getting the top of the desk all cleaned off and wiped down, I started under her desk. While cleaning under her desk, I came across three large (about the width of two of my fingers together, and two-thirds the height of two of my fingers) pieces of broken glass. They were nestled in with the old food wrappers, dirty cotton balls, paper towels, used make-up sponges, dirty cutlery (Six dirty spoons on the floor. Only under the desk. Six). Three LARGE pieces of broken glass.
Any broken glass on the floor in a home with four cats is totally unacceptable. But pieces this big…if Lora broke a glass, surely to fuck she realized she didn’t get it all? Maybe, if the area under your desk is so messy that you can’t FIND all the broken glass, you should clean up under there? MAYBE, even if you don’t think about your own damn feet potentially being cut on the glass, you might remember the four furballs that are often sproinging around? No? Obviously, the answer is “No”.
I flipped out a little bit. Because between the bugs, the mouldering dishes and now, THE FUCKING BROKEN GLASS, I have no desire to live with Lora above and beyond the whole “You’re an abusive dickhead” thing.
Lora and I had previously had several conversations about broken glass, because she broke glasses in the kitchen, and didn’t clean it up well. A few large-ish pieces were visible under the oven when I was standing on the other side of the kitchen. If I can see it, then a cat can also see it and be like “oooooh, shiny”.
So I vented to Jon a bit. Who didn’t know what to say. And I told him that was fine. It’s not like he can fix it. And there are simply no excuses for it. Absolutely none. Especially since this wouldn’t even be the first time Lora and I had a conversation about being careful with broken glass.
I’m not planning on saying anything to Lora right now, because…what would be the point? And saying something to her would require communicating with her, which is on my “Don’t do again” List.
However, part of why Jon and I have a hard deadline for the end of August for Lora’s stuff being out is because we’re going on a trip to one of our favorite places in the world (Lora was originally going too, but now…nope). We have several people interested in staying while we’re gone, to help keep the cats company and feed/do litter. Because of that, it’s important that we have two bedrooms available to offer people, so we can have multiple people staying at the same time.
I’ve been wondering what would happen if Lora volunteered to come stay during that time. Or, if she was procrastinating on getting her stuff out, and asked “why not just give me until you get back to get out?”. Of course, the answer is, for me HELL FUCKING NO. Now I have an even more concrete reason than “I never want you in my home again because I cannot stand you after the way you abused my partner” (which is – I know – a great reason, but you know, sometimes people want something a little more concrete than emotions <insert eye-roll here>). That is “I do not trust you to clean up broken glass around the cats, so for the foreseeable future, I do not want you staying here where you could potentially cause more hazard for them”.
If this does come up, I’m sure Lora will do what she always does. She’ll spend some time sobbing about what a terrible person she is. She’ll repeatedly beat herself about how horrible it was. She’ll apologize while sobbing that there are no words to make it OK. But once she’s flogged herself enough and expressed enough guilty self-beating crying, she’ll go right back to being the same careless person she always is. I mean, given the (at least) two conversations we’d previously had about broken glass in the kitchen, if there was any learning or improvement, it’s still way to fucking little to matter to me.
And I’ve been to this rodeo before. I know this ride. I’m not riding it anymore.