Those of us still alive survived the busiest travel weekend of the year. Whew! But that doesn’t mean we’re done traveling. We’re Americans, goldurnit, except for those of us who aren’t. We go go go. And when you next leave town, how will you ensure that your pipes don’t burst, or that your copper pipes don’t get stolen, or that your lead pipe doesn’t murder the butler in the conservatory?
Housesitters, that’s how. These people—some of whom don’t even look homeless—are willing to live in your home for about the price of a movie theater ticket per day, minus popcorn. But you can’t trust just anyone to sleep in your bed, care for your pets, water your plants, tend to your garden, fend off your burglars, and eat your food. You need a reputable caretaker. That’s why I’m coming out of retirement.
Some housesitting gigs offer peace, tranquility, and a back fridge full of beer. But I won’t bring those up here, because though they are good for my soul, they are boring to talk about. Besides, the vast majority of housesitting assignments give sneak peeks into the private lives of other people, which is much more intriguing. It turns out that other people are INSANE.
To prove that other people are nuttier than a Planters-sponsored jock strap, you need look no further than their pets. Take, for instance, the dog who was afraid of houseflies. This story will kill you; I nearly died, but it all ended happily, and with Kevin Spacey.