Dateline: college, senior year. I finally quit smoking weed to get it together for the GRE (grad school entrance exam). Ergo needed to move out of the fraternity physically & mentally. Something had to give, as it were. Getting clean meant splitting, in this case across the street. Guy named Jeff had a room for rent in his small 2 bedroom. Ground floor duplex. I lived there for 6 months.
Jeff was a marathon runner with pornstache & uptight vibe. Always wore a black beanie (note to laypeople: constant beanie = personality disorder) His ladyfriend was friendly and seemingly normal. Until early on I came back to the apt at night, not late. I heard all this rustling in his room; their door was closed. Within a minute she burst into the room declaring 'sorry I have to go!' So weird. She acted like I busted them during sexy time. I couldn't care less. All I did was walk in & about to head to my room. Turns out, wait for it, she was wound as tight as he was. Birds of a feather, non?
At the time, I owned a waterbed. For at least 2 years. Bought from a roomie who wised up. How embarrassing to write these words now, but you know, candor. Yes, & not the fancy kind. Just a queen size water balloon inside a wood frame. Not the 'waveless' kind or what the proper types were. Nay, this was straight out of the shagadelic 70s.
So how does the bed figure into this? Let's focus. Jeff had 2 cats. Curious cats aka cats. They would investigate my room and sleep on the waterbed. It was heated, makes sense, non? Except...cats have talons. And they would puncture the bed. I'd wake with wet feet, etc. Not drenched but they were making wee pinholes ergo slow leaks. Wasn't thrilled about this, should have got rid of that damn bed right then. Maybe I did. Can't recall.
I didn't dig living there with pornstache Jeff but it was a block from campus, it was my senior year, basically fuck it. Oh and: my upstairs neighbor Sally. I had a gigantic crush on her, you would too if you met her. But I never acted on it, not once (ok I did a few years later). The reason I didn't act on it was simple: she was hitched to my college buddy Jonathan. I was his groomsman actually. I never understood those two together. However, they were both recently sober and that seemed to be the glue.
She must have told me about the room for rent. I knew them both for a couple years prior. Friends with both as outlined earlier. She & I watched the tv show thirtysomething every week at her place upstairs. Recall that show? Underrated. Great acting. The downside of her being upstairs, right over my waterbedroom was she was rather vocal during the sexy time. A screamer. Mainly I was jelly. And confused, as Jonathan...always seemed off to me. So the years later part: turns out, wait for it, he's gay! I learned that when I rang her to say hiya & she had recently booted him to the curb. He confessed all this during their marital therapy. Why is this so common? Let's focus.
When she & I were catching up, she gave me the skinny on my old place. I was gone for 3 or so years by then of course. But those 2 still lived there. Turns out: Jeff wasn't cleaning the litter box, enough apparently. Moreover, wait for it, he was burning candles in the crapper where the box was. For the smell. Well, fun fact: those litter boxes emit ammonia. Which is flammable. Ergo, the crapper caught fire. And spread. And burned throughout the entire house. My friends upstairs had renter's insurance fortunately. They were put up in a nearby hotel for weeks. They lost all their personal items in the fire. Then I lost touch with them, or at least him, until she & I reconnected.
Final part, not one I'm proud of. The one actual argument Jeff & I had was due to the cats being in my room & me shooing them out. He didn't dig that, it escalated until I yelled in his face 'fuck your cats!'
I shared that part with the fraternity boys across the street who found it highly amusing. That phrase, apparently stuck. So here's what they did. Every semester, for years, they made the pledge class, late at night past midnight, assemble outside his window and in unison shriek, wait for it: 'fuck your cats!'
Ah, college.
Epilogue: present day. I'm now a cat person. Cat owner. They're strange & challenging but I dig them. Pains me to recall being cranky at cats & that stupid waterbed. But you, my loyal readers, demand nothing less than candor.