One fine day in the Fall of 2005, not long after a big rain revealed a leaky roof that sent the water down into my funky loft apartment, a bunch of guys in suits came tromping through while Amethyst and I lounged about. I was still in my pajamas. Amethyst always loved company, and chatted these guys up. I was not so amused. They were on what is known in the Real-Estate business as a “walk-through.” My landlord was trying to sell his building to a team of young developers. They asked me if I had had any knowledge of problems with the property. I had the words “leaky roof” right there on the tip of my tongue. This was followed by a torrential list of other problems, including lack of electricity in the galley kitchen and the entry room. I had lived with these problems for the duration of my tenancy. I had wearied of badgering the landlord. I had rationalized these problems away by recalling the relatively low rent that I paid to live in a large downtown space. It was a loft, but not luxurious. The landlord had plans to gut the building and convert it into high rent luxury lofts. I had occasionally suggested that I might be willing to continue to rent from him during and after such a transition. But he always sighed and said that no one would lend him the million and a half he needed to do it. I assumed he had shot himself in the foot one too many times. I knew also that I would not be able to afford a luxury loft - not now, not in the foreseeable future. Now the young lions were in my apartment in force. These were the men that had razed the parking lot down the street and put up a big building that included, among other spaces now filled with upscale restaurants and businesses, luxury lofts. These people had the ears and imprimatur of the city leadership. They could get my slacking landlord in some serious hot water for the many violations of the building code. In a single awkward moment – there I was, Orpheus in his underwear – the writing was on the wall. I was going to have to find another place to live. I may as well make life hard for at least one son of a bitch.
And so it came to pass. But first, there was a struggle to
quickly ‘address the issues’. I came home from work to find my landlord’s
minions at work on the wiring. With the door left open, Amethyst had a long
day’s opportunity to explore the warehouse. She enjoyed that very much.
Luckily, she did not find a way out of the building. Had she done so, the story
of Amethyst and me might have ended with this episode. Instead, the episode
ended with the largest member of the crew falling through the apartment
ceiling. I returned from work again to find a note on the door. “Ken, one of my
guys broke your roof. Sorry.” I opened the door to find mounds of cellulose
insulation covering my possessions. In addition, I now had a view, through a
jagged hole in ancient dry wall, of a broken length two by four and the
warehouse roof, where workers were “addressing the leakage problems.” Amethyst,
asleep on the bed in a room remote from the damage, was alert and talking. She
had seen it all, but knew no human words. She was contented as only a
thoroughly entertained and pleasantly exhausted cat can be. From my end of the
pet/owner bargain, I did not know enough Siamese cat speak to get the point
across that we would now be looking for a new nest. This would begin promptly,
as soon as the vacuuming was done. Amethyst did not go ballistic when the
vacuum ran. She just stayed out of its way.
Later in the week, the workmen patched the hole in the
quickest, most slapdash possible way. It continued to leak insulation. New 14-gauge wire with bright, stripped ends
dangled down from the spot where a new light fixture might have gone. It stayed
that way for the rest of my time in there.
I saw the landlord in the corridor.
“The deal is dead,” he said flatly.
“Yeah?” I said, a bit too brightly.
“Yeah. They were talking about tearing the building down,
since it was in such poor shape. That’s not what I want to have happen.”
“So that’s why the deal is dead?”
“No. They dropped the price.”
“Too bad,” I replied insincerely.
“You know, you should have told me about the leak.”
“You didn’t care about the wiring. I’ve told you about
that repeatedly.”
“Yeah, but I care about the leak.”
“OK. I’ll tell you about any more leaks.”
“There won’t be any more leaks. The roof was installed
wrong, and now it’s right.”
I moved out in the spring, soon after my year at the
University had ended. I didn’t stay through another rainy season.
