Well, October has passed in its entirety and there definitely was no surgery. Unless it was one of those cosmetic things they do with a few injections in an hour. Can't fix the ugly on the inside; may as well forget about the outside.
Effie has been playing loud music and banging around in her kitchen nightly. It seems she also tries to determine when we go up to bed: the sound of upstairs cupboards seems to follow us. Obsessive much?
Sweetie wins a virtual nickel: when we came home Halloween night, "Ms. Neighborly" had every street-facing light off in her side of the duplex. Except for an unattended candle burning in her bedroom window, which is upstairs and faces the street. How do we know it was unattended? Cupboards. Microwave door. You guessed it.
Yesterday morning (11/1), we came out of our door to leave for work, and then we saw that Effie had moved her favorite rubbish bin out of its position (where, if I may gently remind the dear reader, we keep by our porch to discourage mail theft). It was next to our composting and recycling bins in the sawdust area next to the walkway. We're sure it was in its little home when we arrived home the night before; it must have been moved sometime between about 9:30 PM and about 7:45 AM. It didn't just roll there on its own: I had faced it so the wheels were parallel to the walkway. I took photos. This matters: the rule is if the rubbish bin is not replaced as we asked three times, our landlords will use that as grounds for inviting Effie to live elsewhere sixty days after notice is given.
When we arrived home that evening, the bin was technically in place, though it was outside the hockey stick tape guidlines I laid down for her. Sweetie decided not to call that Incident #2. I would have done. I'm not so nice to bullies.
I still don't know why she's still there: if you or I lied about a felony on our rental application, we would have been tossed out WITHOUT due ceremony.
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