The 31 wire hangers my tenants left me are still banded together and waiting by the front door (with the broken lock) to go back to the cleaners. I partially dismantled the bed they broke (mattress is now on the floor but that's okay, I think the mice are gone now), but I have to break down the frame and carry it down to the curb. I cleaned the refrigerator, but haven't bought anything to go in it. I cleaned the mouse turds out of some cabinets but I keep finding dishes and utensils stashed in strange places (I assume that when my tenants got married, they received gifts, and rather than, oh, put my stuff in a box, it was easier to put a few forks on a top shelf, a knife and a plate up with the Bundt pan, rabbit sculptures made of dust behind doors and under tables, and to cleverly place a container of blueberries in the microwave—genius!).
Ray, who stayed in my place from November 15 to January 2, did what he could. He managed to kill the mice, left me a can of Cafe Bustelo, slept carefully on the broken bed, and built me a monster of a desktop computer system—but he couldn't bring himself to touch the freezer.
"Because," he said, "I wanted to see your reaction to it."
I gingerly pried open the freezer door last Monday on my first night home.
Fortunately, Tuesday is trash day.