Uncle Charlie had so many rooms he knew just what to do. He invited younger gay men to live with him. I don't know if they paid rent as much as they provided services. Uncle Charlie also had a love affair with cats. He had perhaps twenty or more cats who moved in and out of the house through open doors and jalousie windows.
A friend of mine lived near Uncle Charlie. My friend's house did not have central air conditioning. He left the doors and windows open most of the day. One day my friend found one of Uncle Charlie's cats on his sofa. He kicked it out. (He didn't kick it. He escorted it.) That same cat or it's cousin returned. And then another. And another.
My friend got upset and called animal control. They said there was nothing they could do but offered to give my friend animal traps. He started making daily trips to the animal shelter to deliver cats to the county. This went on for a few weeks until Uncle Charlie suddenly died. I don't think Uncle Charlie died over the disappearance of his cats, and I certainly don't think my friend killed him.
Very soon after Uncle Charlie's demise, someone made all the wayward boys leave the house and emptied if of cats as well.
That's the end of the story. Somebody bought the house. It got ripped apart, renovated, and sold.
I was reminded about this story during an inspection earlier today. The recently deceased former owner had a love affair with cats. The place reeked of cat pee.
If you are a fan of cats you may not agree with my calling this Key West tale a "horror story". But if, like my friend who lived near Uncle Charlie, I'll bet you would have breathed a sigh of relief when the wayward boys and the wayward cats left the neighborhood. And if you should happen to live near some living "cat lady" or man, I'll be you can't wait for fate to take its course.
