Saturday afternoon. Sunny. Warm. The first whispers of spring in the air.
Ville St. Laurent
Residential sectors used to hold the stigma of being staid, unified, cookie cutter boring areas to live. Moving to the ‘Burbs’ was a middle-aged rite of passage. Upon acceptance of the newer, more remote postal codes, this meant that gone would be the 10:58 Saturday night - “I’m not in a panic to get beer before the depaneur closes, because its just a short jog down the street” moments. Lost are the “let’s meet at that cool internet/shish smoking café around the corner after work” events. Practicality, functionality and acknowledging that cockroaches were not normal household nuisances meant that acceptance of these things meant you were finally becoming an adult. That is why expanding our radius of acceptable places to search began to widen. We would be safe. Surrounded by baby boomers and their backyard gardens, young families with swing sets in the yard, perhaps we could finally find some peace. We embraced a world where landlords looked to rent to responsible individuals, inadvertently propagating the stereotypical myth of suburbia.
This duplex, from the outside, looked extremely well kept. High end aluminum windows, a manicured lawn, and topiary trimmed hedges. We rang the doorbell, and in confirmation of our supposition, a middle aged French man, who must use the same lawn stylist for his hair and clothing, opened the door. Well educated, well spoken, he seemed happy to see us. “You’re older than what I expected. And that’s a good thing…”
Following him up the stairs to the 2nd floor, he stopped midway, turned around to us with trepidation in his eyes: “I must warn you, the current tenants were an exception to my rule. I rarely rented out to students, and after this, never will again…”
If you have never been hit in the face with a dirty litterbox, you will be hard pressed to understand the stench that raped our nostrils the moment the front door was opened. The level of ammonia in the hallway was enough to cause instantaneous tear duct explosions. The landlord cowered, lowering his head ever so slightly while looking back at us. “I said no dogs in the lease, but okay to cats. Well, one cat turned out to be two, and now two equals 7. So I hope you can understand my trepidation when you ask if you have any animals.”
While E tried to reassure the landlord that our cats were domesticated and toilet trained, I took a deep breath, and moved past them to see the rest of the house.
If I lacked a sense of smell, this apartment would have been ideal. Completely renovated – modern bathroom and showroom kitchen, 3 bright bedrooms of nice size. There was obviously attention to design and upkeep. But what it had become as a result of some teenage ignorance, soaked in apathy could not be easily repaired. The carpets would have to be ripped out. Completely. Wall to wall, spanning from room to room. And perhaps even the wood paneled floors. Beautiful old varnished floors, ruined and stained with asymmetrical circles of territorial feline markings.
“Because our cats are indoor, and have never come in direct contact with other cats, they would traumatized because of the smell.”
Scrambling into damage control mode, the landlord quickly spoke: “Oh, we’re planning on having professional cleaners come in and clean the whole house with industrial floor/carpet machines.”
“Humans may not smell the cat urine anymore, but our cats will. The only way we could take this place is if you rip out the carpets.”
“Oh we don’t want to do that. It provides insulation from the sound of people walking upstairs from us. And with 5 students, it gets pretty noisy.”
I was going to make a counter argument: we had since long graduated from university, and a quiet couple of two; but the shame in this man’s eyes was so painfully obvious, he knew the moment he opened the door that nobody other than advantageous students would see the practicality of this place: cheap rent, within walking distance to two of the city’s biggest colleges, and a landlord who is nothing short of a doormat. And because of this, I then gave myself ample leeway to be nosy; opening closets, peering behind bureaus, checking for bed bugs…
What had quickly been established was that these kids had no shame or conscience. Besides, they were simply too immersed into their World of Warcraft games to even notice us walking around them.
A distant delicate symphony of squeaks came from the closet. At first, I thought it was part of the soundscape from the computers, but to my horror, deep inside was a box of 10 newborn kittens, writhing around like hairy snakes. No sooner did I motion to E to come and see, a huge black cat strutted into the room, and sat at our feet. Even on the most instinctive primitive level, something was being watched over and cared for. But sadly, it was not the actual apartment.
The last room was a shared one. Two girls, old enough to be away from home, but still hanging onto the last vestiges of childhood: electric pink thongs thrown over gigantic stuffed animals. Wonder Woman pajamas on the unmade bed, and a dozen bottles of nail polish on the nightstand. Judging by the time of year, they were in the middle of their final exams. Papers covered the floor. Wall to wall notes, scribbles amidst unopened letters and bills. And the state of disarray in the dusty pink room also made me wonder if they were spending their all nighters studying, partying or perhaps both.
And tucked away in the corner, near the window, adjacent to the wall heater was a cat box. A half empty bag of litter on the side, a box of baking soda to neutralize the odors (which was obviously not working) and little links of cocktail wiener sized pieces of shit. On the floor were dried pieces of crap sprinkled with granulated clay. Inches away from that muddle, a food bowl. These kids were living like the animals they barely cared for. It broke my heart and hope for the next generation…
After E and I exchanged some high arched brow raises and deep eye rolls, we agreed that we didn’t want to add insult to injury by telling the landlord something that he already knew - what a mess he had on his hands. By the way he was cowering in the hallways behind us, I think he knew that already. So deciding to be diplomatic without being graphic, we thanked him for his time and said that the cat smell was a deal breaker. He nodded, as he spoke into his chest: “I know. And it will be for many…”
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