It’s important to note that housesitting can never be glamorous or comfortable. Just now I am sitting to reflect on the matter and the giant dogs, peaceably lying down seconds ago, are growling and barking. At 130 pounds a piece they each have more mass than I, not that that’s problematic, but it does amount to perfect arches of drool across my blazer at chest-level.
Stress dreams about house sits happen before, during, and after the time spent in another’s space. Emotional labor outweighs any extra cash (for the current job this point is especially dull, at $10 a day or less, depending on when the humans return). Of course I knew this was a compromise getting into it but I am un unstoppable force of hybridized snark and optimism.
I figured I could spend time alone attending to projects, which is what I am doing, but of course there is no such thing as solitude with 9 chickens (not 8), 2 dogs, and 2 cats. Of the cats, one is a “queen,” in heat (for the 2nd time this month), lashing out at my ankles and drawing blood. At one point I worried the queen (Raja) was sick when she wouldn’t eat, and visited the vet, pumping syringes of water to keep her hydrated, and receiving small cuts on my arm in return.
Using a dirty sponge (that I can’t afford to replace at the moment) I wipe the good intentions of nutritional yeast covered fingers from bulk containers. The energy of things as insignificant as condiments and super foods arranged thoughtlessly in a fridge stresses me out. As a lush aesetic, any lack of minimalism comes at personal compromise.
When kind humans come back to their significant-other-creatures I doubt they will have ever seen their house so shiny, and I will have stress dreams about all of it for indeterminate months.