Cav's Place

To continue right from where I left off, I was dragged away from the only place that I ever actually liked to call “home” and ended up back here… Yet the place, or at least a part of it, quickly became treasured instead of hated. I’m talking about my room, because of all the nice memories it holds from the times when she visited me here. (Actually, now that I think about it, I can only find six solid good memories about her being here that are taking place in another room. No, only two of them are about sex.) Since I no longer have access to the place that holds the vast majority of them, this room became invaluable for me.
Three days after getting here I gave dad to take away from this room pretty much everything that wasn’t connected to her. Yes, this means it’s quite empty, and it would be even emptier if he’d have kept his word about taking away the old desk that’s behind me right now. This desolate look makes me feel like the room is in tune with me, that it’s not pulling me towards a place I don’t want to go to. Some might say it’s depressing, I say it’d be far worse if it weren’t.

Then dad came up with yet another of his “bright” ideas. He wanted to replace the windows, supposedly for better thermal insulation. I tried to appeal to reason first, though that was bound to fail. For one, with walls made of solid concrete, most heat escapes through them and not through the windows, as long as they still close properly. Secondly, being quite airtight, this kind of windows “sweat” whenever it’s chilly outside, and water simply drips off them when it’s actually cold, if the room is not aired out sufficiently. He knows damn well that this room is not going to be aired out as long as I’m in it, as I won’t open the door while either of them is at home (which is almost all the time) and won’t open the window when it’s not warm enough outside. The natural result of all that moisture is mold, but I’ll get to that later. Anyway, since the reasonable approach didn’t work, I switched to the violent one. It’s my damn room and you have no right to change things in it! He countered that by saying that it’s his house and he won’t have it look ugly from the outside because one bedroom has the new kind of windows and another the old kind. That got me to the third approach, the desperate one. You mean you’ll change this room, on which I’m relying to stay just as it is to keep whatever physical connection I still have to my memories of being with her, take all that away, just because otherwise your apartment would not look nice on the outside!?! He did…
Since he wouldn’t also get a heating system for the place, insisting to stay on the rotten city grid for that purpose, and since most heat does, indeed, seep out through the walls, I froze my balls off in here from September till April anyway. And the moisture did result in the expected mold. Actually started appearing just a week after the new windows were in place, though I hadn’t opened the window at all for five and a half months before that and didn’t have this problem. Pointed it out to him, he took a look, agreed that it looks like mold, then said nothing more about it. Pointed it out to him again, after it started spreading rapidly, and he just told me to take a rag and wipe it off, then open the window more. Right, with you here I can’t leave the room while the window’s open, it’s cold outside and I don’t tolerate cold well at all, so no thank you. Did try to keep it at least slightly ajar for 30 minutes per day, but it was all I could do, and naturally it didn’t help. All of autumn and most of winter went by like that, with him not seeming to care and me more and more worried that it was going to get into the books I have from her…
Then he suddenly took interest in it when he walked in here one day and saw for himself how it had spread all over one wall and was going up the ceiling. After that, when I was out once for a doctor’s appointment, the creature (known as “mom” when I was little, I’m just using that term now to let you know who I mean when I say “the creature” from now on), after hearing about it, had the “bright” idea of coming in here and vacuuming it off the wall! His idea to wipe it off might have been idiotic, but hers sure beat it! Probably thought it hadn’t quite spread to every corner of the room till then and wanted to make sure… That finally prompted him into action, saying that he’ll do something about it this summer (probably means putting anti-mold paint on), and buying an anti-mold spray for the time being. Even helped me spray the whole affected area with it. That didn’t go quite well, as it was a rush job and it bleached a portion of the carpet and also touched some naked metal, where the hot water pipes go in the heater, turning it green. Not to mention that, being applied over paint, it made it swell and crack. Still, it did kill the vast majority of the mold and it doesn’t seem to be coming back, though this happened in February. Of course, it has to also be in the carpet and probably also in furniture, but…
And yes, you read that “five and a half months” part right. I didn’t open the window once from the time I ended up back here till they changed them, going through summer like that. Why? Because he had, for some unknown reason, removed the screen placed in front of it so insects won’t get in while I was away. I wouldn’t open the window without the screen, and he wouldn’t put it back until he’d put the new ones in. Perhaps he thought he’d break my resistance on the matter by this, not realizing that you can’t blackmail one who has already lost everything that matters.

That’s about it with the room, now let me move on to the next topic. Another one of dad’s ideas, that is. For a certain amount of time, he kept talking about moving to a house. Not even just us, but initially together with my cousin (from the creature’s side) and his wife. Then changed that idea to buying the house right accross the road from them, which apparently will soon be for sale. Specified that it won’t happen until at least the end of 2007, and most likely in 2008, but I thought I’d get a head start on the argument over it, so went on full offensive right away.
Don’t get me wrong, I’ve always wanted to live in a house with a yard. A little more buffer space between me and everybody else, plus that I actually like gardening. Or at least I remember liking it, from back when I was little and could still do it. Don’t laugh! When I say I hate going out, I say I hate going out into the city, being around people. Having my own space, surrounded by a privacy fence, of course, would change all that. But it wouldn’t be my own space, it would still be shared with them. But you know that’s not the main reason. The main reason to oppose moving anywhere is, as I said before, that this room still holds some physical connection with memories of being with her. Aside from a miracle happening and leaving here to go live with her somewhere again, I’ll only willingly leave this place in order to move in with a person I feel very close to (and there aren’t many of those), and even that would only apply if I’d think she would find out about it.
Back to the argument over the matter, he was mainly reverting to various forms of “What difference would it make to you? You don’t go out, you don’t have people over, you just need one room, right? You’ll get your room, it will have four walls, a ceiling, a floor, a window and a door, as any room, so why would it be any different?” and I was mainly replying with various forms of “It won’t be this room, that’s why it would be different!”. Yes, that was just about as productive as it sounds. But apparently I convinced him that I’ll be more trouble than it’s worth, so he eventually said he has another idea, building a smaller house just for the two of them and using the rest of the money left over from selling this apartment, plus what they already have, to buy me a small 2-room place somewhere. I still don’t understand how could he think that would change my stance…
He eventually stopped talking about that. I don’t dare hope it’s because he changed his mind, think it’s because he thinks he’ll just drag me out of here when the time comes. I may have a surprise waiting for him, if that’s the case… Guess I’ll see how things develop further and think where to go from there, because if I’m forced out of this place I’ll really have only tiny bits and pieces left. Not to mention that I know very well I can’t live alone, not even with him saying he’ll come by once per week or so to buy what I need…

That talk about moving did get me thinking, though… What to do if he will kick me out of here anyway? First thing is to write every little thing I can remember about me and her here, certainly, since those are the oldest memories I have about her and, with the physical link lost, they’d be the easiest to start losing details from. But what next?
I didn’t come up with any solution. Just daydreams along the lines of managing to move in with somebody I feel close to (as I said, daydreaming) and sticking to the roles. I’d handle the house (even cleaning, as much as I hate that) and she’d do whatever requires interacting with other people. The way it should have been when I was living with her, and probably would have been if we’d have gotten to the point of having our own place, just with each having their own room and without the relationship. And, who knows, if I’d know I have somebody to rush back to, somebody I can rely on, at some point way down the line I might even try again to do something requiring contact with others, like buying something… Could also have a cat that I could start to love because it wouldn’t think it’s entitled to my love, as my parents’ cat does… As I said, daydreams…
I know I can handle a house as long as I don’t have to interact with people for it. I even miss doing the chores that ended up being my job while living with her. But, if you factor in the fact that you can’t live without interacting with others, there’s absolutely no way I can live alone. Bottom line, I sure hope that either dad will change his mind on his own or I’ll find some way to change it for him. Realistically speaking, if I say I’m fucked now, moving out of here would be the equivalent of a gang rape by guys with 10″ dicks… Either way, it’d mean losing this room, which is actually the worst thing. Moving with them means basically sealing my fate, who knows how many other years of imprisonment, and possibly with even more people coming by to visit, so even worse. Moving somewhere alone might mean freedom from them, but I know I couldn’t manage, what if something would break and all I could do is stare at it since I couldn’t call a repairman, what if somebody would come to check a meter (as they’re too dumb to find ways to install them outside!) and I’d be too terrified that an unknown person is around me to know what to say, or even to be able to say anything or move at all, what if…

There’s one last thing I want to write about in this part. Their cat, Miki. (I was told that’s how it’s spelled when I first asked. Later, dad spelled it as Micky.) Dad found it in the engine of his car one day, while I was living in Iasi, and brought it here.
She’s a cat, I can’t hate her, but don’t tolerate her well either. She’s a spoiled brat (and then some), and they keep encouraging her to be like that while doing little about issues like her health. It’s appalling how little they know about caring for a cat, and any attempts to teach them a few things fell on deaf ears.
They give her only whatever kind of food she likes best, and try to stuff her with it because “she’s too small” (as if a child who eats a lot gets taller instead of fatter… we all see where that mentality is taking the world), not caring for what might be good and what might not be. And, while she has a water bowl in the kitchen (which she ignores), they put her food in a small plate and what once obviously was an ashtray, using a fork in case of canned food. No problem so far, as they do put them to dry away from the rest of the dishes when they wash them, but sometimes the larger pots end up being set to dry right next to them, and vegetables just piled up on top when they plan to use them for something later. They might be washed, but, considering what I think about their definition of “washed”, I’m more than a little uneasy about this. She also has a cup with water in the bathroom, and she seems to think that’s her only water bowl. I don’t know about you, but to me it seems a pretty bad idea to drink from something sitting in the room where others relieve themselves, right next to the bathtub, so potentially dirty water can easily splash in.
Besides that, the vet’s word is law, even when something’s wrong and the prescribed cure is obviously not working. (I wonder what would have happened to Bubu if we’d have listened to the vets… Though I have to bow to her when I think of the last serious crisis, I was absolutely convinced he was going to die that time.)
And don’t even get me started on the litter box. They buy the worst kind (health-wise) of kitty litter possible and, if you can believe this, use a spoon to scoop it up! (Of course that spoon stays there and is used only for this, but it still feels weird to clean up the litter box with a spoon! Not to mention that it’s quite hard to do it like that…) And the litter box actually was in front of the bathroom, in the hallway, for quite some time, till I put it back in the bathroom (twice, since the creature got it back out after I put it in there the first time). Now it’s in the smaller bathroom, which the creature uses almost exclusively, right in front of the toilet. Don’t know about you, but I’d think putting it a little more towards the side would have been a better idea. Having my nose right it the litter box whenever I sit on the toilet doesn’t seem too appealing to me, but it’s not my problem…
Back to Miki herself, she acts like she’s entitled to being loved by everyone, and that really angers me. You’re not Bubu, stay out of my way! Why can’t she be a normal cat that hates strangers (after all, I came back here after her, so I’d be a stranger)? I do find myself softening up and paying her a little attention when I just happen to bump into her, but all I feel when she approaches me is anger. Of course, she doesn’t pick up on that either, and if I throw away the toys she tries to give me (or, as the case often is, set on the table right in front of me, or even in my plate if I don’t pay attention (it was empty when that happened, thankfully)), she thinks I want her to fetch them and bring them back. Absolutely maddening! And the sad thing is that I very likely would have warmed up to her if she wouldn’t have taken it for granted from day one…
Actually, what’s even more maddening is how dad keeps telling me to make sure I take care of Miki whenever they leave for a few hours. Look, I took care of three cats basically alone (excepting what required interacting with others, of course), one of them sick, for five and a half months, between her leaving and me being kicked out of there when she came back. I can damn well take care of one spoiled (but otherwise quite healthy, save for a problem with an eye) one!
(If it wasn’t clear so far, Bubu’s the cat I loved the most (and also the sick one) from the three we had while I was living with her (and for the time I could still live there while she was away).)

That’s the overview of the house I guess… Part three should cover the actual living situation and things that have happened here concerning them. But now I have another entry in mind, I’ll write that next.
For those who know what I’m talking about, no, I don’t feel it’s weird to write something like this on Beltane. Nothing to celebrate…