edwards block

Now that I am back in Vancouver, I need to find a home. Being the frugal sort, I’m looking for something fairly economical – the less I pay in rent, the less I’ll feel the need to earn money.

One thing I’ve noticed at this end of the socio-economic spectrum is that anyone with a cold, dark, mouldy basement that you wouldn’t expect your dog to live in can go out and buy a sink and put the space on the market for $700 a month. And people will pay it! It is quite apparent that there is no government inspection process or licensing system for proprietors of “illegal suites”. One basement suite, advertised as being in “Shaughnessy”, has a bathroom with a 5′8″ ceiling height. Can you imagine having a shower? I’d only get wet from the waist down unless I bathed on my knees. And then my head would still be dry.

As previously discussed, I can be a bit of a snob at times, and I often have to go through the classified ads several times to talk myself into considering ads that I’d rejected on first pass. However, one ad that I can guarantee that I won’t be responding to read:

if you are a movie lover you gonna feel right at home. I am getting a home theather system with a projector, and already got sattelite tv with 10+ movie channels. ADSL because we all need fast internet, and you get computer tech support for free coz im a computer buff. Oh yeah did i mention the beach/seawall is 15 steps away if you like more active things or just enjoying the sunshine.

The search continues. If you are aware of an available space that would suit me and my budget, do let me know.

At the moment I am staying with Grant and Jerry out at Main & 30th, which is more or less the area in which I hope to live. I don’t know what it is with this summer, but I’m having the most bizarre pet experiences. First it was pilling Ben and Carol’s cats, then examining the fecal output of Colin’s puppies. Now, as Grant and Jerry have taken off to a Bowen Island dinner party for the night, I’ve been left in charge of three cats and a baby squirrel. If you recall from one of my first blog entries back in May, a baby squirrel fell down the chimney. The guys decided to raise it, and named it “JJ”.

As JJ grew, it used to go out in the morning, to do whatever squirrels do all day, but would always come back in the evening for a dinner of pine nuts and it’s own cushy bed. No squirrel ever had it so good, but eventually JJ did not return. Perhaps he met a mate and is now building a nest in someone else’s chimney. Or perhaps he found a nice woodpecker hole in which to live. Or maybe a cat ate him. Anyway, he never came back.

Shortly thereafter, though, another baby squirrel fell down the chimney. Personally, I’d throw some chicken wire over the top of the chimney and light a roaring fire, but I think Grant secretly likes being stepmother to wayward rodents. This one they have named “GJ” (what’s wrong with “Chip”, or “Dale”?). They feed it warmed baby pablum and pine nuts, with a bit of fruit for variety, or roughage or something. Well, since they are away and Doctor Dolittle doesn’t make housecalls, guess who gets to look after the twice-daily feedings?

Tonight was my first attempt to feed GJ. As instructed, I heated the pablum to 98.6 degrees, put a towel in my lap, grabbed the squirrel and tried to stick a hypodermic syringe (sans needle) filled with strained mush into its mouth. I was only wearing a pair of shorts at the time (I’d forgotten instruction number three: wear a shirt), and the little bugger broke free, ran up my chest and sat on my head, twitching.

After putting on a thick flannel shirt, I tried again. Eventually I got the syringe in his mouth and he ate the goop as I slowly squeezed the plunger. After a few of those, I fed him some pine nuts, gave him fresh water, and sent him back to bed.

Remember when house sitting just involved bringing in the mail and watering the aspidistra?