Flower Bed Ideas In Front Of House

No lawn in zone 8a North Carolina was never a question but the answer has changed many times over the past nine years. I started in fall 2017 by rototilling the turf, raking out the roots by hand (while my GSD impatiently watched) and planting clover while I figured out next steps. I’ve had a veggie garden of some kind every year amidst a bright mix of flowers and “carefully curated weeds” anchored by fig trees and evergreen shrubs. The metal beds started as a fence to keep my chaos out of the neighbor’s lawn and expanded across the front to discourage dog walking deposits. Lessons learned are too many to list but here are a few… * I lost my fig tree to some kind of beetle burrowing into the trunk and apricot to gummy sap, likely both from water stress and other mistakes. * Fig trees get huge! I now cut off the main trunk or 2 every spring to keep them manageable. * Zucchini plants attract squash bugs that eat the main stem before they can produce much. * A small pond doesn’t need many plants and too many completely obscure the water. Currently it’s only a water lily with its many offshoots plus a few floating plants for the goldfish to munch. * Crayfish LOVED the pond. I bought some from a local seafood store caught in NC so I assumed they were native. Wrong. They were an invasive species that multiplied like crazy and ate the overwintering goldfish that year. Drained the pond that spring, caught them all and a crayfish expert friend turned one into a poster example and ate the rest. * Goldfish also LOVE the pond. Four 25 cent comets have turned into more than I can count. I’ve caught many of them and donated to my LFS. Current count is around 15. * Wild petunias may be a native but the roots are insanely anchored. I am still fighting almost daily to remove seedlings. They are kicked out since they took over so much real estate. * Strawberry plants will take over the world. They escaped the metal beds and I let them grow into the open area until I decided maybe that wasn’t such a great idea. I pulled them all up and gave grocery bags full away during the early days of Covid. * Build any patio area bigger than you think you need. To expand on the slope I DIYed mine with scrap wood, rebar to hold it in place and filled with pea gravel topped with flagstone and river rock. It’s permeable and I have almost zero stormwater runoff even though the backyard flows around the house into this area. * Creeping Charlie is a nightmare weed. I finally gave up and put down solid plastic covered with mulch. I use granular weed preventer over it and the pecan trees the squirrels plant are easy to pull since their roots are horizontal. The patio drains under it so plants get water that way. My urban farm currently includes blueberries, pineapple guava (!), sweet peas and figs. HIGHLY recommend Pink Icing blueberries. There are plenty to share with the catbirds, they handle drought pretty well and the mostly evergreen leaves are gorgeous through the seasons, not to mention they taste tart and sweet and delicious all at the same time. Pics are in order over the years. Hope y’all are enjoying your no-mow front-yard journeys as much as I have! PS the 2 cats should be on [r/notmycat](r/notmycat) — they are TNR boys who think the pond is their personal water bowl. Edit: Thank you for my first-ever Reddit awards! This sub is definitely my tribe 🍀 submitted by /u/wildurbanlife to r/NoLawns [link] [comments]

We have a big problem. This is a very large raised bed in our front yard. At one time it was gorgeous, and now it is a disaster thanks to bringing in bulk dirt about 7 years ago from a local nursery. It completely infested the flower bed and the grass with horsetails. We have spent the last 3 years spraying to kill them off. Now it is just full of grass and we lost everything. To say that I am devastated would be an understatement. My husband and I are not physically able to hand remove all the grass and dirt. We want to remove everything and refill it with dirt but are scared that we are going to end up with a weed infestation again from the new dirt. How would you go about removing all of this and what would be the best way to bring in bulk dirt to avoid another infestation of weeds? I'm pretty sure that most of the neighbors think that we have abandoned our house at this point! Any ideas are appreciated. submitted by /u/Personal_Web_8251 to r/landscaping [link] [comments]

I’m honestly really shaken up writing this and don’t even know how to explain it properly, but I need advice or insight. My husband’s mom’s house has had a lot of strange experiences over the years. His dad passed away a long time ago, and there was one incident that always stuck with me. His sister had put fake flowers in two vases in front of his dad’s picture. Multiple times, the flowers would end up on the ground while the vases were still standing. One time, his dad’s picture was even moved, but nothing else around it was disturbed. It’s hard to explain how that could happen. When my husband and his sisters were younger, they also had experiences. They’ve talked about hearing things, and his younger sister (who is only a couple years younger than us) used to see black figures in the house. It scared her a lot at the time. Fast forward to now—this past December we found out I’m pregnant. One day I went over to their house and took a nap in one of the rooms. When I woke up and later got home, I noticed a large scratch down my back. I didn’t think too much of it at the time, but it was weird. Then today, something happened that really scared me. A couple hours ago, I was laying on the bed while my husband was in the shower. I suddenly felt a burning sensation on my back. When he got out, I asked him to check, and he saw multiple scratches. While I was trying to take off my dress so he could look better, I turned toward the light from his phone and noticed my stomach—and there were multiple scratches across my baby bump too. What makes this even more confusing is: • I was wearing a very soft, form-fitting dress and biker shorts • My nails aren’t long enough to do that • I had been around my family all day with my bare belly showing and had no scratches at all • This all happened in the short time I was just laying there alone I didn’t feel anything on my stomach at the time, just the burning on my back. I’m honestly terrified. My husband is just as shaken as I am. We’ve talked about me not going back to that house until they have it blessed or something, but I don’t know what to think. On top of that, my dreams have been extremely vivid lately, which is making everything feel even more intense. Has anyone experienced anything like this or have any idea what could be happening? submitted by /u/chickennuggett01 to r/ParanormalEncounters [link] [comments]

https://www.zillow.com/homedetails/2970-Fairmount-Blvd-Cleveland-Heights-OH-44118/33660853_zpid/ Hello All, I was delighted to see the house I personally renovated, 2970 Fairmount Blvd. Cleveland Heights, OH 44118, on your page four months ago. (although my wife just found it yesterday!) After reading through all the comments I wanted to provide many more photographs to you, as I'm very proud of my work, and was thrilled to see mostly positive feedback on the renovations! A huge thank you goes out to Cambria Countertops, as they believed in the revitalization of this home and donated many of the hard surfaces. The countertop end panel on the island was a Cambria first with this home, the detail is now being replicated across the country. Quick story about me, I'm a professional GC, I focus on historic renovations, or historically sensitive renovations, and build new homes. At the time I performed this renovation, I was working for another company. My position there was terminated, largely due to the performance of this project. A major change in the scope of work mid project, wrote my termination on the wall. As with many houses, the deeper we got, the more problems I found. The more areas we added to scope, the longer the list of undisclosed conditions we found became. I'm not the type to leave something unbuttoned and I do not cut the corners, so those problems were fixed...meanwhile the budget was...well...blown...and then blown again. I don't feel comfortable disclosing the amount spent publicly, instead I'll tell you want we did to the house. Since losing my job, I've launched my own company (Ad Astra Homes & Renovations) and am doing well for myself. I have a great relationship with the investors of this project and there are no hard feelings! This house was a delight and the future owner is getting a gem! There are details I would handle differently if it were my home, I would have chosen bolder colors and tile selections. However, I think what was selected was tasteful, authentic to the house, and was installed with beautiful craftsmanship. Here's a list of the work I managed: Starting with the big money, working down to the design decisions and thought process. The utility work and mechanical: New sanitary and storm line from house to street. Upgrade electrical service Cleaning and replacement of the footer tile and drain, then the basement flooded. I went nuclear and put in a B Dry system as back up for the whole house. No problems since! Ripped out whole basement slab under the living room and replaced as it was heaving in the middle. Likely just natural settling, and the existing slab was only 2 inches thick. Full asbestos removal, clean air certificate Replacement of all plumbing, drains and supply lines. New water main from the street, new water supply box. Replacement of all electrical and panels Replaced the radiators with a forced air system, removing radiators, but keeping the nooks to keep the house authentic. These were closed in to keep the benches and create paneled details in place of the screens. Removal of the fountain in the backyard, it was 40k to repair. Stabilization of the decorative pillars in the backyard. We heard a tragedy occurred down the road when two young girls strung a hammock between posts like ours, they fell in. We built a sun shade on top to stabilize them and hopefully prevent a tragedy. Insulated the whole structure, mineral wool, foam, and Fiberglass. The mixture reflected the specific needs of the building. Brickwork and Masonry: Full rebuilt of three chimneys, using identical brick, per original selection sheets. They were photographed, taken down and rebuilt identically. Tuck pointed the whole structure. Rebuilt 3 staircases Repaired slumped patio in rear saving existing sandstone and reusing. Pulled front entry walk up, poured 4 inch concrete and rebedded existing sandstone, including the flower petal detail. Rebuilt of 2 stone retention wall. Rebuilt of 3 window wells. Brand new sidewalk Major structural work at the kitchen to allow the massive new windows. Exterior: Over 20 new windows, mainly due to the existing kitchen having "servant high" windows that started at my forehead and ran up. Servants were not to be seen or heard more than required. All new basement windows in the wells with Azek trim. Restoration by RBX Cleveland Rebuilders Exchange of 2 sets of leaded glass French doors in the Dining Room. New brass banding on existing wood/lead glass windows as required. We kept every window that was able to be restored as the glass was not replaceable. Painting in traditional European Tudor colors New roof deck and Camelot 2 Shingles, which are designed to look like slate. The original roof was cedar shake, but the estimate was a quarter of a million to replace identically. The roof had actual holes when we bought the house, we had to move quickly the water was pouring in. Raised flower beds and landscaping, including the removal of 14 dead trees. Moving to the interior: I fought a war with a designer on the project who wanted to paint all the woodwork. The wood is what makes these houses special! I brought the realtor into the conversation and won the battle to restore all the existing woodwork. To be clear, if it was stained wood when we bought the house, it remained stained wood. I did not instruct nor was anything painted that was not previously. All the existing hardwood floors were restored and refinished. I regret to inform the sub, the floors were previously refinished at least twice, once poorly... There are three areas that are new, but identical in species and width to the original. The kitchen, upstairs back hallway with the built ins, and entry to the former servants quarters. The kitchen had three walls removed, the electrical was under a fur in the floor and so it all had to go. Upstairs hallway was rotted due to active water damage. The servants area previously had pine, I wanted uniformity throughout. We had custom cutter heads made for every piece of trim, so all the trim is identical to the original house. I kept the same species, and as mentioned, kept the same finish, stain or paint. In addition, every fixture, light, door, or piece of trim that was not put back into this house was donated to RBX. If it could live another life, I made sure it had a shot. In fact, another client bought the teal door from the breakfast nook and it is now on a she shed I built for them! Four other doors went to south Ohio, as the same architect designed their house and the doors were identical. The house was stripped to studs in over 90%, we replaced everything short of the foundation, the framing, and reused every material possible. All the plaster details were restored and remain in the house today, as does all of the lead glass. I could go on at great length, but you get the idea. The painting of the boy was claimed by the prior owner, as were all pieces of furniture. The house is not haunted to my knowledge (I gave it the same flair as before!), but one never knows! If this renovation wasn't too your taste, that's OK, if I could do it all again with the knowledge I have today, I would handle a few details differently. Overall, I'm very proud of my work here and hope to restore many more over my career. Thanks for looking at my project! Photos by Aaron Knight Photography - The photos are being degraded by Reddit to fit the max file size. They're quite lovely and clear! submitted by /u/Vegetable-Visual-439 to r/zillowgonewild [link] [comments]

Being expats here for 2 years we are very happy overall with the country, neighbourhood etc, but there is still one thing I'm struggling to understand and I hope people can give me some advice/opinions. https://preview.redd.it/irc6arws0lqg1.jpg?width=3024&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=42d0ff98f562ebb97629a8ba11cf88fa689334c6 We bought a house in a terraced row. Ours is the last one, so we only have neighbours on one side. On the other side, there is a small hallway behind a fence and then another semi-detached house. In front of our house, there is generally a lot of parking space, but directly in front of our house there is no designated parking spot (we assume this is for safety reasons). Before we moved in, people used to park there. However, about two weeks after we moved in, a cement flower bed appeared on that spot. It didn’t have any flowers, just soil, and it prevented parking there. We asked our neighbours, but everyone said they didn’t know who had placed it. The flower bed looked untidy and poorly maintained, and it was right in front of our house. Later, some neighbours mentioned that maybe the people from the other house (not in our row) had put it there. We were not happy about it - not because of the lack of a parking space, but because it looked bad. So we filed a complaint with the gemeente, and they removed the flower bed. During the removal, we saw that neighbours from the other house came outside and spoke to the gemeente workers, so we are now 100% sure it was theirs. After that, they placed a red plastic children’s slide on the same spot. Every time someone moves the slide, they put it back immediately. So my first question is - is this normal? I think that if we want to keep that spot free from parking, we could ask the gemeente to install a proper flower bed that actually looks nice, instead of having something that looks messy or temporary. Another issue with this spot is that some neighbours from our house and the other house occasionally gather there with their children. They sit, chat, drink beers, etc. It’s not too bad in colder weather, but it still feels a bit strange to have people standing right behind our windows and near our front door. In warmer weather, it becomes quite loud (because of the open windows), with several children playing and screaming directly in front of our windows. Everyone has their own backyards, but for some reason they prefer to gather in front of our house. Last year, the neighbours from the other house asked our permission (for the first time) to have a birthday party for their child there, with a large inflatable trampoline. During the party, we couldn’t even leave our house because the area was filled with chairs and people’s belongings, and the plastic slide was placed right in front of our door. We had to move it just to get out. Overall, I understand that the situation is not extreme, they don’t have late-night parties or loud music, but it is still somewhat annoying, especially when they light an open fire there (it is controlled and done using proper equipment, but still). So my final question is: is this kind of situation normal? What would you recommend doing? If it makes a difference, all of the neighbours involved are Dutch. We don’t want to damage our relationship with them if possible, we’re just trying to understand what can be done and how we might find a compromise. One idea we had was to suggest asking the gemeente to install a proper, larger flower bed so the space remains car-free but also looks nice. submitted by /u/Trick-Ad-1103 to r/Netherlands [link] [comments]

This property and interior of my home is my dream, but the front exterior just…makes me sad. I want a FRONT door, you know? We are renovating the inside and we will HAVE to drywall in the upstairs left window (it’s a small walk-in closet and it’s such a waste of wall space that would double our closet. Also, don’t want a window overlooking the front of my house where I CHANGE 😆) Do I have any hope?! I’m open to any creative ideas. That front left stone block on the bottom is a flower bed. THANK YOU! Seriously. I’ve tried so many times to design this. submitted by /u/Key-Ad1065 to r/ExteriorDesign [link] [comments]

I'm not seeking any relationship advice, I just wanted to share my story. Two months ago I (28F) received life changing news: I have cancer. A chondrosarcoma - tumor on my right knee that was ignored for far too long and spread on my femur. My husband (30M) tried to be supportive. We got married young, at 23. My mom kept telling me he's a good one, to count my blessings. He has a good job. Doesn't drink. Is clean. Buys me flowers regularly. But there were cracks, issues. I thought every couple has them and no one is perfect. When I got my diagnosis, I realised quickly that I can not make it through to the other side without my village. What I didn't expect is that he wouldn't be part of that village. He shut down. My girlfriends sprung into action instantly: organised a rotation of visits to our home, cooked meals, made me herbal tea blends for sleep, even cleaned our house and walked our dog. My parents assembled an A star oncology team: the best possible orthopedic surgeons in our city. My husband... shut down. When not at work, he spent much of his time watching brainrot instagram reels. Whenever I tried to bring up the topic of my cancer, he would either change the topic or start crying so I'd have to comfort him. I told myself its okay, people react to stress differently, and the thought of losing me terrified him and put him into a stupor. Then the doctors scheduled me in for surgery and told me to move minimally to avoid putting any pressure on my leg. I spent weeks hobbling around the house and working. I cracked jokes to keep myself and my friends and family sane. The prognosis is good, I told them. My husband would be stoic in front of them, telling them how much he loves me and how he can't imagine losing me. But when it was just the two of us, I found myself having to constantly ask him to unload the dishwasher, take the garbage bins out, walk the dog, feed the dog, bring me some food. He would do it, don't get me wrong - but only ever after being asked. Not once did he make himself a cup of tea and ask me if I want one also, for example. I always had to... ask. The thoughtlessness was excruciating but still I made excuses for him. Then came the day of the surgery. I was petrified and couldn't be strong anymore, I cried. They told me they'd remove my femur and replace it with metal implant. 8 hour long surgery, minimum 5 days spent in the hospital afterwards, months of recovery ahead of me. My husband drove me, checked me in, held my hand and told me he loves me. Then, I woke up, loopy on painkillers and after anashesia. The doctors told me I did great, my leg was all bandaged up and immobile, and the nurses brought me a snack: some cookies and cheese. Then they told me my husband can come in and see me. He came in, held my hand, asked me how I'm doing, told me he loves me... then, he took a look at my cookies and said "are you going to eat those? because I'm starving". I stared at him. the nurse stared at him. I couldn't believe what he was saying and then said, slowly, "go ahead". And he ate them. My hospital food, as I was laying in bed in post-op room after having had my femur bone removed. He ate them. I knew right there and then that this is not my partner, this is over. I spent the next two weeks in the hospital. My parents didn't leave my side. My girlfriends formed a scheduled such that I was never alone in my private room (that they all + my family pitched in to pay for). My husband visited me every other day or so, moaning about how tiring work is and how long the drive to the hospital is. I would smile a little and nod. Yesterday I was discharged. I was asked to be taken to my parents' house where they would take care of me. I told them I was done with my husband and after some back and forth they accepted my decision. Today, I filed for divorce and told him my decision when he came to visit. He cried, he begged, he swore up and down that he loves me, but I knew that this is over - how could I possibly continue building a life with someone who ate my hospital snacks after my cancer and femur-replacement surgery. I'm sure that none of this is malicious, that he's not a villain, that he is just clueless - but my GOD he has always been a horrible partner and I'm so tired. So here I am. 28, living with my parents, confined to a bed. I have a long road ahead of me, I will essentially have to re-learn how to walk. I haven't the slightest idea what the future holds but I am 28, single, a cancer survivor, and I'm free. submitted by /u/More_Ad3865 to r/self [link] [comments]

This is something I should probably be speaking about with a therapist, I know. I would, or I have been, but that's not really an option anymore. In fact, I couldn't tell you how many times I've told this story to various medical professionals. I'm thirty now, twenty years since it happened. I just want it to stop. I was a pretty average kid, I think. A little weird, but every kid is a little weird. I had an older sister, and we fought like two cats. I had a couple good friends, most of whom lived on my street or one street over, and we would meet after school and play until it was time for dinner. My life was fairly ideal. I played soccer, I think. Honestly, I have a lot of trouble remembering much of my childhood. But I remember that I got a Nintendo DS for my tenth birthday, and we had a big party in the backyard. Practically the whole neighborhood showed up. My birthday was just before school got out for the summer, so the air buzzed with excitement, and the evening was warm and felt more alive than other nights. The grown ups started a fire in our little fire pit, and they sat around it and drank beer while we ran around. I was allowed to stay up past when I usually went to bed, and the other kids chased fireflies with me and roasted marshmallows until late. I remember going to bed happy, excited for summer, and exhausted. I fell asleep quickly, the peel-and-stick glow in the dark stars and moons shining on the ceiling above my head. Waking up the day after my birthday, something felt... off. I couldn't put my finger on it. I hadn't had a nightmare, it wasn't that... I had slept better than I could really remember ever sleeping. It was late, I realized... that must be it. My mom usually woke me up around eight if it wasn't a school day. She said it was a good habit to be in the routine of waking up early and starting your day on the right foot. By the light streaming in from my windows and the slightly muggy heat in the room, I figured it was already 10 AM or so. I smiled, sliding out of bed. It must have been one final birthday treat, letting me sleep in. She had let me sleep in the day before too, of course, although on my birthday itself I had wanted to get up as early as possible. "Mom?" I called into the hallway, poking my head out the door. No answer. I frowned. It was Saturday, so my dad was definitely already at work, but my mom wouldn't be. My sister wouldn't be home either... she had left the night before to spend the night at her friend's house. She was thirteen now, and allowed to have sleepovers, for which I was eternally jealous. I decided she must be out front in the garden. I put on a shirt and left my room. I smelled coffee, but there was none left in the pot. There were dishes in the sink, too, with remnants of egg stuck to a pan. It wasn't necessarily alarming, but it was strange... even on days I slept in, there was always breakfast left over for me. I opened the front door, opening my mouth to call out to my mom, but I instantly froze. Halfway up our walkway was the mailman. He was on the ground, sprawled out awkwardly on the cement, fresh blood pooled beneath him in a gruesome splatter. I didn't know what to do. I couldn't move. His limbs were bent at horrible angles, his face pointed away from me. It almost looked like something, some omnipotent force, had lifted him into the air and then slammed him back down. The package he must have been delivering lay a few feet away, the cardboard dented and soaked in red. I didn't need any confirmation he was dead. It wasn't a question. I had never seen a dead person before. Sometimes my parents had watched horror movies, but that hardly counted. I backed into the house and closed the door behind me. My mind was racing too fast and my heart felt like it might burst out of my chest: everything in my body was reeling, so much so that all I could do was move slowly, in a faux sense of calm. "Mom?" I called out again, into the silent house, my voice breaking. "Mom, are you home? Something happened outside! Mom!" No one answered. The house felt way too quiet, all I could hear was the blood rushing in my ears. I had to brace myself against the wall as I made my way to my parent's room, because I was almost shaking too hard to hold myself up. "Mom...?" I pushed open her bedroom door. It creaked, the sound almost deafening against the silence that blanketed the room. Our old grey cat, Gumbo, weaseled her way through the crack and slipped out into the hallway, brushing against my leg on her way. I saw a lump in the bed. For a moment I thought it was just pillows, but then I realized it couldn't have been... the bed was made, and all the pillows were accounted for, leaning against the headboard. "Mom, are you asleep?" It came out as a whisper, even though it wasn't like I had been trying not to wake her up. I wanted her awake, badly. I think I just somehow already knew. Something was hanging in the air, this heaviness, like the whole world had been blanketed in a thing that was empty and hot and dead. A desert popped into my head, a place that was so far away from everything and completely devoid of anything. Devoid of life. When I pulled back the covers, the shock washed over me like an electric zap. Every one of my veins and bones and muscles felt twenty degrees hotter than they should have been. There was blood everywhere. I could barely see any section of the sheets that wasn't soaked in it. It looked like the cherry juice we sometimes made from the tree in our backyard, squashing the berries with our hands and laughing as the sticky syrup trickled down our wrists. Her eyes were open. Her mouth was open too, wide open, like she was about to scream. I gagged, stumbling backwards and almost falling down. My legs felt like they wouldn't work anymore. I was in a daze as I stumbled back to the kitchen. The eggs on the pan seemed like they were mocking me now. I knew my parents had told me what to do in an emergency, but all of that was gone from me now. This didn't feel like an emergency, it felt more like a horrible nightmare. I pinched myself on the arm, just in case. The neighbors, that was it. I was supposed to call my neighbors, the number was on a sticky note next to the phone. My fingers shook as I dialed the number. They picked up after three rings that felt like they took one year each. I heard a sort of crackling sound, like someone was moving the phone around. "Hello?" "H-Hi..." I cleared my throat, trying to get rid of the lump firmly lodged at the back of my tongue. "This is... Jackson... from next door..." I heard some sort of giggle, a choked one, like they were trying to hold it back, and then some hushed whispering. "Hi Jackson," the voice said. I assumed it was the mother, Mrs. Winston. "Is everything alright? Can I help you with something?" "I, uh... s-something happened... my mom..." "Oh, honey," Mrs. Winston said, her tone gentle, but something about it felt deeply off. My stomach twisted. "Why don't you head on over here, hm? We'll figure out what's going on together." "Okay..." I remember hanging up before she said anything else. Something about her voice was unnerving me. Still, I didn't know where else to go. I slipped out the back door so I wouldn't have to walk past the mailman, Gumbo watching me go. I knocked on the neighbor's door. No answer... I knocked again. Still nothing. I stepped into the flower beds, peering in through the windows. Someone was lying on the couch, their head tilted back like they were staring up at the ceiling. For a moment that was what I thought was happening, until I saw that their chest was opened up like a patient on a surgery table. All guts and organs and blood, so much blood. It was Mr. Winston, in his sweater vest and brown dad shorts. Dead like the mailman. Dead like my mom. Something came over me, and I burst through their front door. It was unlocked, which I hadn't really expected, so I went tumbling into the room, landing on my stomach, my face slamming into the floor. Face to face with Mrs. Wilson, who lay dead in front of the phone. Her eyes were open too. There was a fly on one of them, crawling across the white, pausing every few seconds to rub its hands together. I had started to cry. It was finally hitting me that this was real, not some dream, and I desperately wanted my mom. I scrambled to my feet, nearly throwing up when I realized my face was covered in her blood... I swiped at it with my hands, trying to wipe it away as quickly as possible. Then, instinctively, I licked my lips. Horrified, I braced myself for the coppery taste of the blood on my tongue... But it never came. It was... sweet. I hesitated, trembling incessantly, before cautiously raising one of my red fingers to my lips. Sweet. Memories flooded my mind, memories of baking with my grandmother, the sweet syrup we would sometimes pour into the mixing bowls... It was fucking corn syrup. I ran to my father's work, which was on the other side of town. By the time I got there I was close to passing out and drenched in sweat... but it had made it a little easier to get here with the road completely devoid of cars. There were some, parked on the side of the road or every now and then in the middle of it, but none of them had people in them. Some of them had blood. Thick and red and gooey blood. The nice receptionist that was always at the front desk, and always gave me candy when my dad brought me in, had her head against the computer. Her hair was matted with red liquid, as if someone had ripped out entire chunks of her scalp. Before I could think too hard about it I wiped my finger across the side of her head and licked it. It was sweet too. I felt like my brain was going to break, like I was standing on the edge of something completely incomprehensible. I shook the woman. She flopped like a rag doll. I sobbed, shoving her, and she slumped to the ground, her head knocking against the tiles. "Wake up!" I screamed at her. "I know you're not dead!" She didn't move an inch. Just stared, unblinking, her mouth hanging half open. I ran into the room my dad usually worked in, scanning it for his work space... I couldn't remember where it was, just that it was around halfway back, and close to the wall. In every cubicle someone was dead. Sometimes they looked halfway peaceful, as if they'd been caught by surprise, but most of them were eviscerated in one way or another. Entrails hanging out, bones showing, blood sprayed against the walls, even some with faces ripped clean off. It was like something unseeable had swept through the town on a rampage. But all of their blood was made of corn syrup. In a brave moment I even touched one of the organs, something that looked like a strange deflated balloon, and it jiggled, but more like plastic than a human body part. At one point I swore I heard a giggle behind me. I whipped around, but no one was there. I found my dad at the water cooler, sitting against the wall, cone paper cup still gripped loosely in his hand. He stared straight ahead, blood leaking from his eyes, nose, and mouth, like he'd exploded from the inside. "Dad," I whispered, grabbing his shoulder. "This isn't funny... please stop..." There was a strange look on his face that I could just barely make out through the red. Almost like a smile. Like a smile someone would only make if they were trying very hard not to. I walked back home down the middle of the road, balancing on the yellow lines to have something to focus on, because I was fairly certain if I stopped walking, I wouldn't start again. When I got there, I climbed into bed and I closed my eyes. I didn't know what else to do. Eventually, after what must have been hours and hours of lying there, I drifted off into a restless sleep. I woke up to someone shaking my shoulder. I screamed, scrambling away from them, immediately wide awake and terrified. "Woah!" My mom backed away, smiling. "Sorry buddy, I didn't mean to scare you!" I was breathing hard. I looked her over, clutching my chest. She was... completely fine. She looked it, at least. She stood there in a white blouse and blue jeans, her hair tied up like always, her eyes bright and happy. "What... what day is it?" Her smile faded, and she frowned a little. It was then that I noticed the smell of bacon wafting in from the kitchen. "It's Sunday, bud, remember?" Two days after my birthday. So yesterday had been real... "What happened yesterday?" She placed the back of her hand on my forehead, tutting softly. "Did one of those neighborhood kids you play with get you sick, honey? Do you feel okay?" I dropped it, because I didn't know what to say. I convinced myself maybe I really was sick, maybe it had been some kind of feverish hallucination. And I was so relieved to see her, I didn't want to think about any of it anymore. I went to eat breakfast, sitting at the table between my dad and my sister, and everything was normal. But when I left the house later that day, I saw it. On the walkway leading up to our house, there was something pink on the pavement... a faint pink stain, like something sweet and red and sticky had been recently scrubbed away. Like I said, it's been thirty years. I've been feeling like I had almost recovered from that incident. I had asked everyone I knew countless times about that day, but none of them seemed to have any idea what I was talking about... but still, I had almost let it go, and it had never happened again. Not until today. Today, when I walked into my therapists office, it seemed strangely quiet. There was usually music playing, something soothing and soft, and there were people in the waiting room and at the front desk typing on a keyboard... But today, nothing. No one. Silence. I let myself into Dr. Sheldon's office, perplexed. Which is when I found her dead on the carpet, her blood sprayed across all the walls, even dripping from the ceiling. It was crazy, I know that, but I immediately tasted it. Sweet. I rolled her over, and her eyes were open, a strange smile on her face. This time I did something I didn't think to do as a kid... I checked her pulse. She's alive. I don't know what to do. I can't believe they're doing this to me again. Do they think this is funny? submitted by /u/orangeplr to r/nosleep [link] [comments]

I am not The OOP, OOP is u/BattleScarredBear I thought my wife’s cat hated me for four years. Now he’s obsessed with me. I have questions. Originally posted to r/CatAdvice Thanks to u/soayherder for suggesting this BoRU TRIGGER WARNING: death of beloved family pets Original Post July 17, 2025 CW: Pet loss (mentions of the peaceful passing of two beloved senior pets) So, bit of backstory: In 2020, I moved in with my then-girlfriend (now wife). Along with our shared life came a shared menagerie. I brought my dog, Gemma. She brought two cats: Indy and Pekoe. I had high hopes that the animals would become some quirky Pixar-style blended family. I was a fool. Gemma was the sweetest, scruffiest, quietest old mutt you’ve ever met. The kind of dog who looked like she'd seen things but mostly just wanted a gentle chest rub and a soft place to nap. She loved cats, in a way that felt like she wished they were her pets. I've seen her gently lay down next to cats, with this hopeful look on her face. She never barked. She didn’t snuggle, exactly, but she’d lie nearby, always quietly hoping the cats might someday love her back. She was the canine equivalent of a kid on the first day of school holding out a juice box like, “Friends?” Indy, one of the cats, was a calico tabby with the emotional range of a bomb about to go off. Chaos incarnate. She hated the move, hated Gemma, hated everything really, except for my wife and, somehow, eventually, me. For the first year I lived there, she refused to come down to the first floor. Eventually, she came around to me, but she never stopped treating Gemma like an unholy menace. Even once she started hanging out downstairs, she’d travel across furniture and windowsills like a tiny fluffy assassin avoiding pressure plates, just to avoid setting paw where Gemma might have breathed. Poor Gemma had to give up on her dream of having a cat buddy real fast after getting swatted (undeservedly) two too many times. And then there was Pekoe. Pekoe is a large orange tabby with the emotional resilience of a wet loaf of bread. Anxious, clingy, and - this is important - he had absolutely no time for me. He was a sad fat boy who lived only for my wife. He didn’t like me. He tolerated Gemma. He hated cuddles unless they came from his chosen human. If my wife closed her office door, he’d cry like the Romeo understudy in a high school drama class. He’d side-eye me like I was the guy she told him not to worry about. We had an understanding. I existed, and he pretended I didn’t. So that was our house for years. Gemma trying to just exist peacefully with the dying hope the cats might one day accept her. Indy radiating murder vibes or snuggling my head with begrudging affection. Pekoe ignoring me with great enthusiasm. It was an uneasy truce, but it held. Two years ago, Gemma passed, peacefully, at 16. We were gutted. A few months later, Indy, who had slowly warmed up to me over time, decided I was her Person. She got clingy. She’d caterwaul when I left. Sleep on my chest, my head, my back. Wherever she could drape her angry little body. Full gremlin energy, but affectionate. Recently, Indy’s health declined. She had a worsening heart murmur, and about a month ago, we made the difficult decision to let her go gently. She was 17. We were devastated all over again. And then, immediately after Indy’s passing, like within a few days, something shifted. Pekoe changed. Suddenly, the cat who had ignored me for four years became obsessed with me. He sleeps with me at night now. Rolls over for belly rubs like I’m some kind of feline massage therapist. He insists on being in my office all day. If I go back to bed, he climbs in and snuggles up like I’m the last patch of sunlight in the universe. He wants me to feed him now. And he'll ignore my wife, his actual person, to come bop my chair and demand attention. Then he purrs like a dying lawnmower and looks at me with the kind of absolute adoration usually reserved for cult leaders and those who open cans. We didn’t change our routine. We didn’t rearrange the house. My wife is still very much present and fully available for cuddles. But Pekoe is acting like I’m his long-lost soulmate and he’s making up for lost time. Which leaves both of us, me and my wife, completely baffled. I have several theories: Indy bullied him into keeping his distance, and now that she's gone, he's free to pursue this forbidden human romance. He’s grieving, and somehow senses I'm grieving too. But it feels less like “let’s heal together” and more like “rub my belly, grief monkey.” This is a long con. He’s softening me up for something. I don’t know what. He’s terrible at being a cat, so probably not murder. But definitely something. The shift has been instant and total. I feel like I’m living with a completely different animal. Nothing else has changed. My wife is still here. She is supposed to be his person. Now apparently I am? Has anyone else had a cat pull this kind of emotional U-turn? I feel like I’m living with a completely different animal now. I mean, I’m not complaining - he’s a great cuddler and he’s terrible at being a cat, and that’s sort of charming in its own right - but I feel like I missed something here. Is this normal? Is this grief? Is he just now realizing I give excellent belly rubs? A glitch in the Cat Matrix? Or have I been a mark all along? TLDR: My wife’s cat spent four years ignoring me like I was a piece of furniture that owed him money. Then our other cat passed away, and now he’s obsessed with me. I have theories, and concerns. RELEVANT COMMENTS NeeliSilverleaf He misses Indy and Indy loved you. He's reaching out. OOP I desperately want to believe this, and you may very well be right. But I’ve been so suspicious of his motivations that it’s hard to trust this sudden wave of relentless adorableness. It feels like it could be nefarious. Or, at the very least, deeply selfish. Which, in all honesty, I respect. You get those belly rubs, Peeks. If this turns out to be a fully coordinated emotional assault, I will be in awe of the long game. I do want to reinforce that it never really seemed like the cats got along, which is why I have a hard time believing he’s grieving in any classic sense. Indy barely tolerated him any more than she tolerated Gemma. I once caught them sleeping on the same bed within inches of each other, and it was such a rare event it became a household breaking news. We discussed it all afternoon, like a panel of cable news pundits trying to fill airtime during an election cycle. To be fair, though, maybe Pekoe would have preferred a more peaceful, interloving household. I imagine he misses Indy in the way that the Stockholm hostages miss Jan-Erik Olsson. ~ Evinshir He's grieving and wants to make sure you are okay. Cats are odd like this. It's probably the new normal now. I don't Indy was bullying him. It's more likely that he us missing Indy and you remind him of her. OOP I can promise you, she most definitely was bullying. She bullied all of us. That was her love language. It was also her method of establishing her monarchy. She didn’t gently coax me into cuddles. She would caterwaul and screech until I followed her to the chair or bed she had chosen for our “shared” comfort. She would occasionally go out of her way to surprise-swat Gemma, just to remind her who ruled the realm. And if she realized Pekoe was even in staring distance, she would flip the entire fuck out. Indy was absolutely a bully. But she was our bully. In all seriousness though, I do hope this is the new normal. Pekoe is very squishy, and I like giving him belly rubs. If he pulls this rug out from under me, I will be absolutely destroyed. Update Aug 23, 2025 (5 weeks later) It has been over a month since I posted about this situation, and I can tell you: I am slowly going mad. Many of you responded to that post, alluding to some version of the theory that Indy, our cat who recently passed, had claimed me as hers, and that she had kept the other cat, Pekoe (I thought I should share some pictures of him this time), from me. I have now come to believe this may be true, but not in the way you all thought. I think she was protecting me from him. One might even say she did it for his own good. Editors Note: the 4 pictures OOP provided were of Pekoe stretched on the bed and 1 in the garden He does not stop meowing. Am I exaggerating? Of course I am. He is not capable of uttering a constant, repeating, irritating meow every second, on the second, for all eighty-six thousand, four hundred seconds of the day. He is asleep approximately 16–18 hours of the day. He also spends 10–30 seconds per meal inhaling the variety of damp, brown, pâté-like meat pastes we drop onto his ornate, flower-shaped ceramic cat dish, ,multiple times a day.* Meow. He is capable of keeping up that unrelenting pace of meowing for several consecutive minutes, sometimes as many as fifteen of them (my personal best in resisting his un-siren-like call), bundled together into an episode of mind-eroding sonic torture. It is not loud. No, it is worse than loud. It is like a psychic lance to the skull. As though someone is tapping on the blackboard of my mind with chalk-dusted fingers, little scratches of nerve-wrenching shocks to my cerebellum. Over and over and over again. Meow. Meow. I have ascertained some of the meanings of his belligerence. The purposes of these verbal assaults are many. Here are just a few of the reasons he has decided to employ this persuasion technique: He would like his breakfast approximately three hours early (5 a.m.). He would like a second serving of breakfast. He thinks he can convince whichever one of us didn’t serve him breakfast that he hasn’t had breakfast yet. He would like some of my breakfast. He would like lunch now. Yes, he has recently decided he would like lunch. He is thirsty. He, of course, has a massive cycling water bowl, but it seems he must announce when he is heading off for a drink. He would like an afternoon snack. He would like my afternoon snack. He is wondering if he can have some of our dinner. He would like his own dinner. He would like my wife to stop singing. He would like to be pet. He would like to be drawn into a cuddle and pet. He would like to be drawn into a cuddle and pet at 1 a.m. He would like to be drawn into a cuddle and pet at 3 a.m. He would like to have a post-breakfast cuddle. He would like to have a post-dinner cuddle. He would like to be elevated onto the bed. He would like to be de-elevated from the bed. Here are two things he does not utilize this skill for: Warning us he is about to vomit a hairball (or his dinner) onto the bed. Letting us know he has failed to reach the litter boxes, and has instead opted to poop on the stairs. Meow. Meow. Meow. And finally, to explain the elevation points, and the yet-unmentioned and most egregious use of this newfound misuse of his vocal powers, I must explain that my desk, where I work most days, is in a cubby in our bedroom. Directly behind me is our marital bed, which, in his ascension and self-crowning as King of this Domain, he has claimed as his royal throne. Yes, there are stairs installed at the end of the bed. Yes, he is perfectly capable of using them. But no, he does not lower himself to such indignities when his human-powered elevation device is present. To be clear: I am that human-powered elevation device. Not my wife. Not any other nearby human. Just me. Meow. Meow. Meow. Meow. And this leads us to the newest, and most heart-melting, yet infuriating, implementation of his royal declarations: begging for my attention. Not just my attention, but a very specific form of attention that he bypasses my wife for entirely. She cannot perform this task, apparently. Only I can. Meow. Meow. Meow. Meow. Meow. This is entirely our fault. He was terrible at being a cat in the first place. He had no motivation to chase mice, strings, or even little laser lights. He never showed any interest in getting to high places like most other cats. In fact, the only time I’ve seen him try to ascend further than the couch was to get to the back of the couch, where my wife had left her bowl of ice cream unattended. He has always been spoiled, and we spoil him further, because there is no going back. He is nearly 17. This is who he is. A hedonistic loaf of fur. Meow. Meow. Meow. Meow. Meow. Meow. Even as I write this, he is pawing at the back of my chair, demanding that I perform my duty. That duty? Belly rubs. It’s not just any old belly rubs. He likes when I grasp him firmly, but gently, press my head against him, and flop him down onto his side. A gesture that began out of pure frustration (after being interrupted for the seventh time in an hour, I pressed him to the bed and gave him a fury-fueled belly rub as recriminations for his bad behaviour) only to have him start purring. Loudly. The same way he used to purr for my wife when she would relent and let him cuddle her in the wee hours. A purr I once interpreted as a petulant, performative, dramatic cat version of: “See, fat man? She loves me more.” Meow. Meow. Meow. Meow. Meow. Meow. Meow. Now, weeks later, I must repeat this ritual several times a day. I am not allowed on the bed with him. I must remain seated in my chair, leaning over him so he can paw at my shirt or attempt to clean my face. He either wants to be fully on his back, clinging to my arm with his front paws, or slightly on his side, kneading the air like a baker of invisible biscuits. Is it cute? Of course. Is it annoying and inconvenient? Almost exclusively. When I am in meetings. Meow. When I am deep in a programming binge. Meow. When I am desperately trying to maintain focus on a passage of prose. Meow. When I am trying to watch course material for work. Meow. Meow. Meow. Meow. Meow. Meow. Meow. Meow. Meow. It is slowly eroding away at my tether. I can feel each utterance pierce into the meaty noodles of my gray matter, like an infestation of furry caterpillars crawling amongst my neurons. And yet, how can I be angry with him? How can I be annoyed, his aged-purr muscles sputtering as I stroke his belly, sounding like an ancient lawn tractor lurching back to life, the engine struggling to turn over even with the choke fully pulled out. The kind of noise you hear before some gristled old man in a plaid shirt with a yellowed moustache says “you can’t just cold start ’em, gotta warm ’em up first.” Sometimes I try to re-establish my grasp of reality by engaging these mewlings in conversation: “Meow.” “Sorry, I didn’t catch that.” “Meow.” “No, it’s not time for dinner yet, buddy.” “Meow.” “You wouldn’t talk to your mother like that.” “Meow.” “It’s not okay to use that kind of language in this house.” “Meow.” “Seriously, where did you learn that word? It wasn’t from me.” Is it working? I don’t know. My wife and mother-in-law find these exchanges hilarious. They don’t realize this is my last-ditch effort to keep my sanity. I don’t think it’s working. I am losing it. He never stops until he gets what he wants. Any sense of autonomy I had as an adult has rotted away. I no longer feel in control of my day, let alone the idea of having any say in my destiny. I have no choice here. I must comply. I can only choose to endure or comply. There is no relief from it. I have no mouth but I must meow. Meow. Meow. Meow. Meow. Meow. Meow. Meow. Meow. Meow. Is this why we often jest about cats owning us? It doesn’t feel so funny any more. It feels horrifyingly, viscerally, unerringly true. I once believed I was terrorized by the other cat, her machinations and demands feeling pointed, but now, I wonder: have I been inherited, passed like a crown, from one master to the next? Is this orange monster my Joffrey? I can feel myself coming unglued at times, and the conversations take a darker turn. I’ll turn to my wife and say: “Listen, I’m not 100% on the translation, but I’m pretty sure he’s saying he’s tired of it here, and he’d like to be taken to the shelter to find a more extravagant home, something more suited to his proclivities.” Or: “I’m pretty sure he just said it’s time to cut the apron strings. He’s ready to get out there, get a job, and find a place of his own. I think we should support him in gaining his independence.” Or: “Pekoe tells me he’s interested in taking up lake swimming.” She finds these less funny, especially since I’ve repeated them enough that she now warns of severe consequences if I even think such a thing. Do I think such a thing? Only in jest, I assure you. I may be going mad, but I am not a monster. I would never hurt this cat, or any other creature. I am gentle with them, and I love them more than people. Even this cat. This cat, who tests the limits of the love between us. I do love him. I do. I swear. Meow. Meow. Meow. Meow. Meow. Meow. Meow. Meow. Meow. Meow. I am just baffled. Annoyed, certainly, but mostly baffled. Why does he like this ritual so much? Is this play for him or some elaborate humiliation ritual for me that I do not yet fully comprehend? If I stop and turn back to my work, he will wait a few minutes, then cry for me again, and when I return he has stood up again. So being knocked over is part of it. But why? Why is he so particular? What does it mean? What is this? Meow. Meow. Meow. Meow. Meow. Meow. Meow. Meow. Meow. Meow. Meow. I am resigned to my fate. I will act as his personal elevator, and I will serve him his rubs of the belly. I do, and will find mental fortitude and emotional sustenance as he enjoys my attention. I will let my heart melt as he grasps my arm. Or when he paws my shirt. Or when he makes his air biscuits. But …why are the air biscuits he makes so slow… and… so delicious? More Cat Tax!!! Picture of Pekoe stretched on the bed THIS IS A REPOST SUB - I AM NOT THE OOP DO NOT CONTACT THE OOP's OR COMMENT ON LINKED POSTS, REMEMBER - RULE 7 submitted by /u/Direct-Caterpillar77 to r/BestofRedditorUpdates [link] [comments]

This is a repost. The original was posted in r/CatAdvice by User BattleScarredBear. I'm not the original poster. Status: Concluded with open for more Original July 17, 2025 CW: Pet loss (mentions of the peaceful passing of two beloved senior pets) So, bit of backstory: In 2020, I moved in with my then-girlfriend (now wife). Along with our shared life came a shared menagerie. I brought my dog, Gemma. She brought two cats: Indy and Pekoe. I had high hopes that the animals would become some quirky Pixar-style blended family. I was a fool. Gemma was the sweetest, scruffiest, quietest old mutt you’ve ever met. The kind of dog who looked like she'd seen things but mostly just wanted a gentle chest rub and a soft place to nap. She loved cats, in a way that felt like she wished they were her pets. I've seen her gently lay down next to cats, with this hopeful look on her face. She never barked. She didn’t snuggle, exactly, but she’d lie nearby, always quietly hoping the cats might someday love her back. She was the canine equivalent of a kid on the first day of school holding out a juice box like, “Friends?” Indy, one of the cats, was a calico tabby with the emotional range of a bomb about to go off. Chaos incarnate. She hated the move, hated Gemma, hated everything really, except for my wife and, somehow, eventually, me. For the first year I lived there, she refused to come down to the first floor. Eventually, she came around to me, but she never stopped treating Gemma like an unholy menace. Even once she started hanging out downstairs, she’d travel across furniture and windowsills like a tiny fluffy assassin avoiding pressure plates, just to avoid setting paw where Gemma might have breathed. Poor Gemma had to give up on her dream of having a cat buddy real fast after getting swatted (undeservedly) two too many times. And then there was Pekoe. Pekoe is a large orange tabby with the emotional resilience of a wet loaf of bread. Anxious, clingy, and - this is important - he had absolutely no time for me. He was a sad fat boy who lived only for my wife. He didn’t like me. He tolerated Gemma. He hated cuddles unless they came from his chosen human. If my wife closed her office door, he’d cry like the Romeo understudy in a high school drama class. He’d side-eye me like I was the guy she told him not to worry about. We had an understanding. I existed, and he pretended I didn’t. So that was our house for years. Gemma trying to just exist peacefully with the dying hope the cats might one day accept her. Indy radiating murder vibes or snuggling my head with begrudging affection. Pekoe ignoring me with great enthusiasm. It was an uneasy truce, but it held. Two years ago, Gemma passed, peacefully, at 16. We were gutted. A few months later, Indy, who had slowly warmed up to me over time, decided I was her Person. She got clingy. She’d caterwaul when I left. Sleep on my chest, my head, my back. Wherever she could drape her angry little body. Full gremlin energy, but affectionate. Recently, Indy’s health declined. She had a worsening heart murmur, and about a month ago, we made the difficult decision to let her go gently. She was 17. We were devastated all over again. And then, immediately after Indy’s passing, like within a few days, something shifted. Pekoe changed. Suddenly, the cat who had ignored me for four years became obsessed with me. He sleeps with me at night now. Rolls over for belly rubs like I’m some kind of feline massage therapist. He insists on being in my office all day. If I go back to bed, he climbs in and snuggles up like I’m the last patch of sunlight in the universe. He wants me to feed him now. And he'll ignore my wife, his actual person, to come bop my chair and demand attention. Then he purrs like a dying lawnmower and looks at me with the kind of absolute adoration usually reserved for cult leaders and those who open cans. We didn’t change our routine. We didn’t rearrange the house. My wife is still very much present and fully available for cuddles. But Pekoe is acting like I’m his long-lost soulmate and he’s making up for lost time. Which leaves both of us, me and my wife, completely baffled. I have several theories: Indy bullied him into keeping his distance, and now that she's gone, he's free to pursue this forbidden human romance. He’s grieving, and somehow senses I'm grieving too. But it feels less like “let’s heal together” and more like “rub my belly, grief monkey.” This is a long con. He’s softening me up for something. I don’t know what. He’s terrible at being a cat, so probably not murder. But definitely something. The shift has been instant and total. I feel like I’m living with a completely different animal. Nothing else has changed. My wife is still here. She is supposed to be his person. Now apparently I am? Has anyone else had a cat pull this kind of emotional U-turn? I feel like I’m living with a completely different animal now. I mean, I’m not complaining - he’s a great cuddler and he’s terrible at being a cat, and that’s sort of charming in its own right - but I feel like I missed something here. Is this normal? Is this grief? Is he just now realizing I give excellent belly rubs? A glitch in the Cat Matrix? Or have I been a mark all along? TLDR: My wife’s cat spent four years ignoring me like I was a piece of furniture that owed him money. Then our other cat passed away, and now he’s obsessed with me. I have theories, and concerns. Some of the comments by OOP: [Somebody says cat can get cuddlier with age] Treasure her. There may be some truth in what you say here, because Indy also softened with age. She went from napping sinisterly in remote corners of the house to becoming what we affectionately referred to as the ten-pound terrorist (she wasn’t actually ten pounds, but the name stuck). She would scream at me until I was properly bullied into the chair, couch, or bed she had selected for cuddling. It was like living with a tiny, affectionate dictator. So perhaps Pekoe has now learned this skill, and without Indy to contend with, has decided to adopt her tactics for himself. I think you’ve cracked this case wide open. (And thank you. Sorrow and joy are deeply intertwined in our household. If you haven’t already, I highly recommend The Prophet by Kahlil Gibran, especially his section on Joy and Sorrow. It captures it beautifully.) [One commenter says Pekoe just misses Indy and reaches out] I desperately want to believe this, and you may very well be right. But I’ve been so suspicious of his motivations that it’s hard to trust this sudden wave of relentless adorableness. It feels like it could be nefarious. Or, at the very least, deeply selfish. Which, in all honesty, I respect. You get those belly rubs, Peeks. If this turns out to be a fully coordinated emotional assault, I will be in awe of the long game. I do want to reinforce that it never really seemed like the cats got along, which is why I have a hard time believing he’s grieving in any classic sense. Indy barely tolerated him any more than she tolerated Gemma. I once caught them sleeping on the same bed within inches of each other, and it was such a rare event it became a household breaking news. We discussed it all afternoon, like a panel of cable news pundits trying to fill airtime during an election cycle. To be fair, though, maybe Pekoe would have preferred a more peaceful, interloving household. I imagine he misses Indy in the way that the Stockholm hostages miss Jan-Erik Olsson. In the world of cats, the system of territory is very solid. Even humans are considered territory. My theory is: 1) Both cats viewed you as Gemma’s territory. They don’t challenge a larger animal on their territory so they stayed away. 2) Indy must be the alpha out of the 2 cats. You became her territory once Gemma is gone. 3) Indy’s gone, now Pekoe gets to have you all to himself. I experienced something very similar between two cats that I got around the same time. The second cat became much more affectionate with me once the first one passed away. shoopshoop3 This theory actually makes a lot of sense to me. That said, the idea of Gemma being the alpha in any regard is... objectively hilarious. She was the most passive dog imaginable. She was a literal peacemaker in her day. Not submissive, necessarily, but deeply uninterested in conflict. With other dogs or cats, her whole vibe was “There's stuff to sniff, why you stressing?” Indy, she was absolutely the alpha. Or rather, not an alpha. A queen. The smallest in the house in size, but the largest of us all in personality. She ruled with an iron paw. Her domain included all of us. We affectionately called her the ten-pound terrorist. And Pekoe? He’s definitely a little princeling. The soft, sourdough loaf-like, emotionally needy heir to the throne, now basking in the full light of attention. [OOP] When Gemma and I first moved in, I was persona non grata to both cats. Indy appeared to warm up slowly over time, but Pekoe… Pekoe was obsessed with my wife in a way that bordered on the unhealthy. When I joke about there being an air of romantic competition between us, I’m really only half-joking. The other half is projecting my own wildly inappropriate insecurities. That cat had zero doubts about his status as the favored son. I, on the other hand, was very much the unwelcome interloper. Which is probably why all of this feels so confusing. In this house, I’ve mostly been considered “spare human” by all the animals — even my own dog, at times. My wife has always been the clear favourite. Is it because she is a soft, cuddly human with a sweet disposition who gently coos, soothing savage beasts? Perhaps. Is it because she’s a soft touch who routinely feeds her four-footed children from her plate? Absolutely, yes. So, you’re probably right. Maybe Pekoe hasn’t abandoned his obsessive devotion to my wife. He’s just realized he can now distribute himself a little more evenly. For our benefit, of course. Out of generosity. Like a benevolent lord bestowing affection upon his lesser subjects. Whenever my wife would leave for more than 24 hours, he’d come seeking a bit of affection. But it was always begrudgingly. He wouldn’t cuddle, precisely. He’d just sit within arm’s reach and give me a look that said: “You may pet me, fat man, but don’t get any ideas.” He wouldn’t purr. The only sign he was accepting the interaction was the absence of tail twitching. And once he’d had his fill, he’d leave, casting one last baleful glance over his shoulder that clearly meant: “Tell no one of what happened here. If you do, I will deny it… and end your bloodline.” Outside of that, unless I was opening a can of tuna or holding a piece of chicken, I was not interesting to him in the least. Cats do not seem to do well with the concept that multiple cats can love multiple people. Multiple people may love one cat, sure. But not the other way around. It’s cat math. It doesn’t have to make sense. It just is. [about the death of a cat] It really is hard, but in a subreddit like this, I know everyone here knows that pain intimately. And we all know it’s worth it, for the years of laughter, weirdness, and love they give us. I can promise you, she most definitely was bullying. She bullied all of us. That was her love language. It was also her method of establishing her monarchy. She didn’t gently coax me into cuddles. She would caterwaul and screech until I followed her to the chair or bed she had chosen for our “shared” comfort. She would occasionally go out of her way to surprise-swat Gemma, just to remind her who ruled the realm. And if she realized Pekoe was even in staring distance, she would flip the entire fuck out. Indy was absolutely a bully. But she was our bully. In all seriousness though, I do hope this is the new normal. Pekoe is very squishy, and I like giving him belly rubs. If he pulls this rug out from under me, I will be absolutely destroyed. [about the name Pekoe for an orange cat] I first read this as “Orange Pekoe is a genius” and was both surprised and horrified. Firstly: no, he is not. He is absolutely terrible at being a cat. He refuses to climb on furniture. Chase a mouse? Never. We bought them a cat stand once. He never made it past the first level. His idea of playing with a toy is one swat, followed by existential fatigue. Is he capable of finding food once it leaves his field of vision? No. Does he turn his head to re-establish visual contact with said food? Also no. Then I realized what you actually wrote, and yes, absolutely. It is genius. My wife is much smarter than I am, and she loves tea. Her staple? Earl Grey. Just kidding. It’s Orange Pekoe. [somebody says maybe OOP is ill and the cat picks up on it] Yes, I’m good. Just had bloodwork done recently, I’m currently working at n weight loss with my doctor. I appreciate the thought though. Update August 24, 2025, 1 month and 1 week later It has been over a month since I posted about this situation, and I can tell you: I am slowly going mad. Many of you responded to that post, alluding to some version of the theory that Indy, our cat who recently passed, had claimed me as hers, and that she had kept the other cat, Pekoe (I thought I should share some pictures of him this time), from me. I have now come to believe this may be true, but not in the way you all thought. I think she was protecting me from him. One might even say she did it for his own good. He does not stop meowing. Am I exaggerating? Of course I am. He is not capable of uttering a constant, repeating, irritating meow every second, on the second, for all eighty-six thousand, four hundred seconds of the day. He is asleep approximately 16–18 hours of the day. He also spends 10–30 seconds per meal inhaling the variety of damp, brown, pâté-like meat pastes we drop onto his ornate, flower-shaped ceramic cat dish, multiple times a day. Meow. He is capable of keeping up that unrelenting pace of meowing for several consecutive minutes, sometimes as many as fifteen of them (my personal best in resisting his un-siren-like call), bundled together into an episode of mind-eroding sonic torture. It is not loud. No, it is worse than loud. It is like a psychic lance to the skull. As though someone is tapping on the blackboard of my mind with chalk-dusted fingers, little scratches of nerve-wrenching shocks to my cerebellum. Over and over and over again. Meow. Meow. I have ascertained some of the meanings of his belligerence. The purposes of these verbal assaults are many. Here are just a few of the reasons he has decided to employ this persuasion technique: He would like his breakfast approximately three hours early (5 a.m.). He would like a second serving of breakfast. He thinks he can convince whichever one of us didn’t serve him breakfast that he hasn’t had breakfast yet. He would like some of my breakfast. He would like lunch now. Yes, he has recently decided he would like lunch. He is thirsty. He, of course, has a massive cycling water bowl, but it seems he must announce when he is heading off for a drink. He would like an afternoon snack. He would like my afternoon snack. He is wondering if he can have some of our dinner. He would like his own dinner. He would like my wife to stop singing. He would like to be pet. He would like to be drawn into a cuddle and pet. He would like to be drawn into a cuddle and pet at 1 a.m. He would like to be drawn into a cuddle and pet at 3 a.m. He would like to have a post-breakfast cuddle. He would like to have a post-dinner cuddle. He would like to be elevated onto the bed. He would like to be de-elevated from the bed. Here are two things he does not utilize this skill for: Warning us he is about to vomit a hairball (or his dinner) onto the bed. Letting us know he has failed to reach the litter boxes, and has instead opted to poop on the stairs. Meow. Meow. Meow. And finally, to explain the elevation points, and the yet-unmentioned and most egregious use of this newfound misuse of his vocal powers, I must explain that my desk, where I work most days, is in a cubby in our bedroom. Directly behind me is our marital bed, which, in his ascension and self-crowning as King of this Domain, he has claimed as his royal throne. Yes, there are stairs installed at the end of the bed. Yes, he is perfectly capable of using them. But no, he does not lower himself to such indignities when his human-powered elevation device is present. To be clear: I am that human-powered elevation device. Not my wife. Not any other nearby human. Just me. Meow. Meow. Meow. Meow. And this leads us to the newest, and most heart-melting, yet infuriating, implementation of his royal declarations: begging for my attention. Not just my attention, but a very specific form of attention that he bypasses my wife for entirely. She cannot perform this task, apparently. Only I can. Meow. Meow. Meow. Meow. Meow. This is entirely our fault. He was terrible at being a cat in the first place. He had no motivation to chase mice, strings, or even little laser lights. He never showed any interest in getting to high places like most other cats. In fact, the only time I’ve seen him try to ascend further than the couch was to get to the back of the couch, where my wife had left her bowl of ice cream unattended. He has always been spoiled, and we spoil him further, because there is no going back. He is nearly 17. This is who he is. A hedonistic loaf of fur. Meow. Meow. Meow. Meow. Meow. Meow. Even as I write this, he is pawing at the back of my chair, demanding that I perform my duty. That duty? Belly rubs. It’s not just any old belly rubs. He likes when I grasp him firmly, but gently, press my head against him, and flop him down onto his side. A gesture that began out of pure frustration (after being interrupted for the seventh time in an hour, I pressed him to the bed and gave him a fury-fueled belly rub as recriminations for his bad behaviour) only to have him start purring. Loudly. The same way he used to purr for my wife when she would relent and let him cuddle her in the wee hours. A purr I once interpreted as a petulant, performative, dramatic cat version of: “See, fat man? She loves me more.” Meow. Meow. Meow. Meow. Meow. Meow. Meow. Now, weeks later, I must repeat this ritual several times a day. I am not allowed on the bed with him. I must remain seated in my chair, leaning over him so he can paw at my shirt or attempt to clean my face. He either wants to be fully on his back, clinging to my arm with his front paws, or slightly on his side, kneading the air like a baker of invisible biscuits. Is it cute? Of course. Is it annoying and inconvenient? Almost exclusively. When I am in meetings. Meow. When I am deep in a programming binge. Meow. When I am desperately trying to maintain focus on a passage of prose. Meow. When I am trying to watch course material for work. Meow. Meow. Meow. Meow. Meow. Meow. Meow. Meow. Meow. It is slowly eroding away at my tether. I can feel each utterance pierce into the meaty noodles of my gray matter, like an infestation of furry caterpillars crawling amongst my neurons. And yet, how can I be angry with him? How can I be annoyed, his aged-purr muscles sputtering as I stroke his belly, sounding like an ancient lawn tractor lurching back to life, the engine struggling to turn over even with the choke fully pulled out. The kind of noise you hear before some gristled old man in a plaid shirt with a yellowed moustache says “you can’t just cold start ’em, gotta warm ’em up first.” Sometimes I try to re-establish my grasp of reality by engaging these mewlings in conversation: “Meow.” “Sorry, I didn’t catch that.” “Meow.” “No, it’s not time for dinner yet, buddy.” “Meow.” “You wouldn’t talk to your mother like that.” “Meow.” “It’s not okay to use that kind of language in this house.” “Meow.” “Seriously, where did you learn that word? It wasn’t from me.” Is it working? I don’t know. My wife and mother-in-law find these exchanges hilarious. They don’t realize this is my last-ditch effort to keep my sanity. I don’t think it’s working. I am losing it. He never stops until he gets what he wants. Any sense of autonomy I had as an adult has rotted away. I no longer feel in control of my day, let alone the idea of having any say in my destiny. I have no choice here. I must comply. I can only choose to endure or comply. There is no relief from it. I have no mouth but I must meow. Meow. Meow. Meow. Meow. Meow. Meow. Meow. Meow. Meow. Is this why we often jest about cats owning us? It doesn’t feel so funny any more. It feels horrifyingly, viscerally, unerringly true. I once believed I was terrorized by the other cat, her machinations and demands feeling pointed, but now, I wonder: have I been inherited, passed like a crown, from one master to the next? Is this orange monster my Joffrey? I can feel myself coming unglued at times, and the conversations take a darker turn. I’ll turn to my wife and say: “Listen, I’m not 100% on the translation, but I’m pretty sure he’s saying he’s tired of it here, and he’d like to be taken to the shelter to find a more extravagant home, something more suited to his proclivities.” Or: “I’m pretty sure he just said it’s time to cut the apron strings. He’s ready to get out there, get a job, and find a place of his own. I think we should support him in gaining his independence.” Or: “Pekoe tells me he’s interested in taking up lake swimming.” She finds these less funny, especially since I’ve repeated them enough that she now warns of severe consequences if I even think such a thing. Do I think such a thing? Only in jest, I assure you. I may be going mad, but I am not a monster. I would never hurt this cat, or any other creature. I am gentle with them, and I love them more than people. Even this cat. This cat, who tests the limits of the love between us. I do love him. I do. I swear. Meow. Meow. Meow. Meow. Meow. Meow. Meow. Meow. Meow. Meow. I am just baffled. Annoyed, certainly, but mostly baffled. Why does he like this ritual so much? Is this play for him or some elaborate humiliation ritual for me that I do not yet fully comprehend? If I stop and turn back to my work, he will wait a few minutes, then cry for me again, and when I return he has stood up again. So being knocked over is part of it. But why? Why is he so particular? What does it mean? What is this? Meow. Meow. Meow. Meow. Meow. Meow. Meow. Meow. Meow. Meow. Meow. I am resigned to my fate. I will act as his personal elevator, and I will serve him his rubs of the belly. I do, and will find mental fortitude and emotional sustenance as he enjoys my attention. I will let my heart melt as he grasps my arm. Or when he paws my shirt. Or when he makes his air biscuits. But …why are the air biscuits he makes so slow… and… so delicious? EDIT: Thank you all for the compliments on my writing, and for the awards! I'll try to respond to as many comments as I can. Notable comment: You say he's obsessed, but you wrote 25 paragraphs and 25 bullet points about him. Are you sure you're not the one who's really obsessed here? Immediate-Shift1087 Is it obsession when someone is simply trying to make sense of the persistent, ongoing, and unrelenting source of their torment? If so, then yes, I am hopelessly obsessed with this tangerine terror. That said, your concern is fair and appreciated. Pekoe has lived a long, spoiled, and medically complicated life. Even before I was in the picture, he went through a health crisis so severe that even the vet thought he was beyond help. My wife stubbornly refused to give up on him, nursed him back to health, and they’ve been an inseparable (and arguably co-dependent) pair ever since. He’s been pampered and coddled for years. He does have some arthritis and is on specialized food for urinary issues, but he’s monitored and cared for, and nothing so far suggests an underlying new medical crisis. At this point, I think what’s changing is less his health and more his focus. His vocalizations aren’t exactly new, it’s just that they used to be entirely aimed at my wife, and after Indy passed, he seems to have redirected that fixation onto me. Healthwise, he is what passes for normal for him. Me on the other hand, that's another story. [OOP] Some of the comments by OOP: My wife named him—and (not so coincidentally) it happens to be her favorite tea. As for your situation, I’d brace yourself; there’s a distinct possibility you’re in for a similar adventure. And if you ever find yourself in need of guidance on the proper belly-rub technique, you know where to find me. I genuinely love that your inclination is this is him desperately trying to make good on some perceived debt of affection. Some version of "Dear God, I have not fulfilled my obligations of affection to the fat man, and now, with the departing of our dearly beloved Indy, I must make amends." That, that is so wholesome. The world needs more people like you in it. [somebody says to close the door on Pekoe] I’m confused: are you suggesting that a solid-core door might somehow silence him? How? Am I to use this door as some kind of weapon? Or are you suggesting that I might be able to exile him from His Domain? That I actually have a choice in where he decides to lay himself out? I admire your faith in my supposed powers of persuasion, but Pekoe is governed only by the paths of sunbeams, his stomach, and his own whims. On the rare occasions I’ve tried to exile him, he’s simply yelled and scratched until he was let back in. Remove him from the door, and he returns. Every time. Unperturbed. Relentless. I can imagine that a more solid door could dull the sound of his demands for entry, but would it stop them? Not in the least. As much as I wish a piece of wood could be my salvation, it’s an idea that’s been trialed, failed, and long since abandoned. (But seriously, thank you for trying to help!) I think the better question is: would I take well to button training? Do I really want to know what he’s thinking? It might be safer to remain in my delusions. It’s entirely possible that his true thoughts are far more harrowing than I assume. That said, I’ll float the idea to my wife. Several people have suggested it. Part of me feels like at 17 he might be too old to learn new tricks… but then again, he has successfully trained me to give him belly rubs, so perhaps I need to rethink my assumptions. It really is something Pekoe doesn’t seem to like. My wife has an incredible singing voice, and it’s honestly one of my favorite things about her. I love when we’re in the car together and she sings along. One of our first big date trips was to wine country, and one of the best parts of the whole weekend was the several hours we spent sharing a Spotify playlist and belting out every song. She just doesn’t do it much around the house because Pekoe - along with his many other titles and responsibilities - has apparently appointed himself our resident music critic. For whatever reason, he does not like her singing. [on getting another cat so Pekoe isn't alone] It's a really good thought, and I love how much everyone here wants Pekoe to be happy. There was a dog who passed a few years ago, and another cat in the house who passed more recently. We do our best not to leave him alone for long. We’ve talked about whether bringing in another cat might help, but given his age and physical limitations, we worry it could be more stressful than supportive. For now, we’re just trying to make sure he gets all the attention and comfort he needs from us. I think suggesting that people who don’t approach animal behavior the same way you do, or who prioritize their relationship with their pets differently, are weak-willed sets the wrong tone. It risks making people less open to your insights, even if those insights have value. That said, I actually share some of your perspective. Pekoe definitely understands that the rules are different between my wife and me. He knows he can practically stick his face in her bowl before she admonishes him, whereas if I make a certain noise, he knows to get his paw off the coffee table and avert his eyes from my food, thank-you-very-much. And just to clarify: I was writing my original post with deliberate exaggeration. I’m not actually losing my mind, and I do love this cat. The whole point was to poke fun at his bizarre ritual of demanding to be knocked over in order to get belly rubs. It’s inconvenient, sure, but it’s also endearing in its own ridiculous way. I’ve lived through two cats who have lost their hearing, and I found both experiences both heartbreaking and amusing. Having a cat scream affectionately at me is somehow more tolerable. No, his hearing is both intact and acute. If I had the equipment to measure it, I am certain that Pekoe has broken land speed records getting his chubby ginger butt across the house the moment the can opener makes contact with a tin of tuna. Even though, after every time I empty and drain a can of tuna I pour him a generous dish of tuna water, that does not stop him from incessantly meowing through the entire opening and draining process. I'm not the original poster. submitted by /u/Schattenspringer to r/BORUpdates [link] [comments]

It has been over a month since I posted about this situation, and I can tell you: I am slowly going mad. Many of you responded to that post, alluding to some version of the theory that Indy, our cat who recently passed, had claimed me as hers, and that she had kept the other cat, Pekoe (I thought I should share some pictures of him this time), from me. I have now come to believe this may be true, but not in the way you all thought. I think she was protecting me from him. One might even say she did it for his own good. He does not stop meowing. Am I exaggerating? Of course I am. He is not capable of uttering a constant, repeating, irritating meow every second, on the second, for all eighty-six thousand, four hundred seconds of the day. He is asleep approximately 16–18 hours of the day. He also spends 10–30 seconds per meal inhaling the variety of damp, brown, pâté-like meat pastes we drop onto his ornate, flower-shaped ceramic cat dish, multiple times a day. Meow. He is capable of keeping up that unrelenting pace of meowing for several consecutive minutes, sometimes as many as fifteen of them (my personal best in resisting his un-siren-like call), bundled together into an episode of mind-eroding sonic torture. It is not loud. No, it is worse than loud. It is like a psychic lance to the skull. As though someone is tapping on the blackboard of my mind with chalk-dusted fingers, little scratches of nerve-wrenching shocks to my cerebellum. Over and over and over again. Meow. Meow. I have ascertained some of the meanings of his belligerence. The purposes of these verbal assaults are many. Here are just a few of the reasons he has decided to employ this persuasion technique: He would like his breakfast approximately three hours early (5 a.m.). He would like a second serving of breakfast. He thinks he can convince whichever one of us didn’t serve him breakfast that he hasn’t had breakfast yet. He would like some of my breakfast. He would like lunch now. Yes, he has recently decided he would like lunch. He is thirsty. He, of course, has a massive cycling water bowl, but it seems he must announce when he is heading off for a drink. He would like an afternoon snack. He would like my afternoon snack. He is wondering if he can have some of our dinner. He would like his own dinner. He would like my wife to stop singing. He would like to be pet. He would like to be drawn into a cuddle and pet. He would like to be drawn into a cuddle and pet at 1 a.m. He would like to be drawn into a cuddle and pet at 3 a.m. He would like to have a post-breakfast cuddle. He would like to have a post-dinner cuddle. He would like to be elevated onto the bed. He would like to be de-elevated from the bed. Here are two things he does not utilize this skill for: Warning us he is about to vomit a hairball (or his dinner) onto the bed. Letting us know he has failed to reach the litter boxes, and has instead opted to poop on the stairs. Meow. Meow. Meow. And finally, to explain the elevation points, and the yet-unmentioned and most egregious use of this newfound misuse of his vocal powers, I must explain that my desk, where I work most days, is in a cubby in our bedroom. Directly behind me is our marital bed, which, in his ascension and self-crowning as King of this Domain, he has claimed as his royal throne. Yes, there are stairs installed at the end of the bed. Yes, he is perfectly capable of using them. But no, he does not lower himself to such indignities when his human-powered elevation device is present. To be clear: I am that human-powered elevation device. Not my wife. Not any other nearby human. Just me. Meow. Meow. Meow. Meow. And this leads us to the newest, and most heart-melting, yet infuriating, implementation of his royal declarations: begging for my attention. Not just my attention, but a very specific form of attention that he bypasses my wife for entirely. She cannot perform this task, apparently. Only I can. Meow. Meow. Meow. Meow. Meow. This is entirely our fault. He was terrible at being a cat in the first place. He had no motivation to chase mice, strings, or even little laser lights. He never showed any interest in getting to high places like most other cats. In fact, the only time I’ve seen him try to ascend further than the couch was to get to the back of the couch, where my wife had left her bowl of ice cream unattended. He has always been spoiled, and we spoil him further, because there is no going back. He is nearly 17. This is who he is. A hedonistic loaf of fur. Meow. Meow. Meow. Meow. Meow. Meow. Even as I write this, he is pawing at the back of my chair, demanding that I perform my duty. That duty? Belly rubs. It’s not just any old belly rubs. He likes when I grasp him firmly, but gently, press my head against him, and flop him down onto his side. A gesture that began out of pure frustration (after being interrupted for the seventh time in an hour, I pressed him to the bed and gave him a fury-fueled belly rub as recriminations for his bad behaviour) only to have him start purring. Loudly. The same way he used to purr for my wife when she would relent and let him cuddle her in the wee hours. A purr I once interpreted as a petulant, performative, dramatic cat version of: “See, fat man? She loves me more.” Meow. Meow. Meow. Meow. Meow. Meow. Meow. Now, weeks later, I must repeat this ritual several times a day. I am not allowed on the bed with him. I must remain seated in my chair, leaning over him so he can paw at my shirt or attempt to clean my face. He either wants to be fully on his back, clinging to my arm with his front paws, or slightly on his side, kneading the air like a baker of invisible biscuits. Is it cute? Of course. Is it annoying and inconvenient? Almost exclusively. When I am in meetings. Meow. When I am deep in a programming binge. Meow. When I am desperately trying to maintain focus on a passage of prose. Meow. When I am trying to watch course material for work. Meow. Meow. Meow. Meow. Meow. Meow. Meow. Meow. Meow. It is slowly eroding away at my tether. I can feel each utterance pierce into the meaty noodles of my gray matter, like an infestation of furry caterpillars crawling amongst my neurons. And yet, how can I be angry with him? How can I be annoyed, his aged-purr muscles sputtering as I stroke his belly, sounding like an ancient lawn tractor lurching back to life, the engine struggling to turn over even with the choke fully pulled out. The kind of noise you hear before some gristled old man in a plaid shirt with a yellowed moustache says “you can’t just cold start ’em, gotta warm ’em up first.” Sometimes I try to re-establish my grasp of reality by engaging these mewlings in conversation: “Meow.” “Sorry, I didn’t catch that.” “Meow.” “No, it’s not time for dinner yet, buddy.” “Meow.” “You wouldn’t talk to your mother like that.” “Meow.” “It’s not okay to use that kind of language in this house.” “Meow.” “Seriously, where did you learn that word? It wasn’t from me.” Is it working? I don’t know. My wife and mother-in-law find these exchanges hilarious. They don’t realize this is my last-ditch effort to keep my sanity. I don’t think it’s working. I am losing it. He never stops until he gets what he wants. Any sense of autonomy I had as an adult has rotted away. I no longer feel in control of my day, let alone the idea of having any say in my destiny. I have no choice here. I must comply. I can only choose to endure or comply. There is no relief from it. I have no mouth but I must meow. Meow. Meow. Meow. Meow. Meow. Meow. Meow. Meow. Meow. Is this why we often jest about cats owning us? It doesn’t feel so funny any more. It feels horrifyingly, viscerally, unerringly true. I once believed I was terrorized by the other cat, her machinations and demands feeling pointed, but now, I wonder: have I been inherited, passed like a crown, from one master to the next? Is this orange monster my Joffrey? I can feel myself coming unglued at times, and the conversations take a darker turn. I’ll turn to my wife and say: “Listen, I’m not 100% on the translation, but I’m pretty sure he’s saying he’s tired of it here, and he’d like to be taken to the shelter to find a more extravagant home, something more suited to his proclivities.” Or: “I’m pretty sure he just said it’s time to cut the apron strings. He’s ready to get out there, get a job, and find a place of his own. I think we should support him in gaining his independence.” Or: “Pekoe tells me he’s interested in taking up lake swimming.” She finds these less funny, especially since I’ve repeated them enough that she now warns of severe consequences if I even think such a thing. Do I think such a thing? Only in jest, I assure you. I may be going mad, but I am not a monster. I would never hurt this cat, or any other creature. I am gentle with them, and I love them more than people. Even this cat. This cat, who tests the limits of the love between us. I do love him. I do. I swear. Meow. Meow. Meow. Meow. Meow. Meow. Meow. Meow. Meow. Meow. I am just baffled. Annoyed, certainly, but mostly baffled. Why does he like this ritual so much? Is this play for him or some elaborate humiliation ritual for me that I do not yet fully comprehend? If I stop and turn back to my work, he will wait a few minutes, then cry for me again, and when I return he has stood up again. So being knocked over is part of it. But why? Why is he so particular? What does it mean? What is this? Meow. Meow. Meow. Meow. Meow. Meow. Meow. Meow. Meow. Meow. Meow. I am resigned to my fate. I will act as his personal elevator, and I will serve him his rubs of the belly. I do, and will find mental fortitude and emotional sustenance as he enjoys my attention. I will let my heart melt as he grasps my arm. Or when he paws my shirt. Or when he makes his air biscuits. But …why are the air biscuits he makes so slow… and… so delicious? EDIT: Thank you all for the compliments on my writing, and for the awards! I'll try to respond to as many comments as I can. submitted by /u/BattleScarredBear to r/CatAdvice [link] [comments]

I’ll do my best to keep this simple. For several years, we have lived next-door to a woman who rents half of a duplex. She is disabled, on oxygen all the time, has a home care worker, and is probably somewhere around 60 years old. We’ve had a distant but cordial relationship up till this point. In March, she gave me permission to use extra strength vinegar on ivy that grows from her side of the fence into our side of the fence and yard. The smell was strong, but not intolerable. Some of the ivy died. She didn’t want us using regular yard chemicals because she feeds an outdoor cat and did not want the cat to get sick. My husband planted sunflower seeds on a small strip of land between our driveways. We got permission from her landlord to plant there, although the sunflower seeds were put in on our side of the property. We also have a number of raised beds in our front yard with lots of flowers of different kinds. She told my husband a couple days ago, that the bees, who have been visiting the sunflowers quite a lot, bothered her cat when it was trying to eat. When she was talking about this, the cat was eating its food, which was several yards from where the sunflowers are. He told her he didn’t really know what to do about that problem. She also complained about some vinegar that I had put on a blackberry shoot that was coming up in our yard. She said it went into the air conditioning in her house and made it hard for her to breathe. She added that she didn’t like the bees or the hummingbirds that were all over the place. We like flowers, lots of colorful flowers, and were trying to attract pollinators. Husband got up this morning, opened the front curtains, and found that she had basically decapitated all of our 10 foot tall sunflowers at about 5 feet. Got rid of every single sunflower. The stalks are still alive. The flowers are gone. She put them in our organic recycling.🙄 He got me out of bed to look at this travesty (I have a fractured ankle and it’s difficult to move around right now). He was very upset. He decided to call the cops and then went to work. A police officer showed up, and I stuck to just the sunflower issue. He went over to talk to the neighbor. She brought up the bees, the hummingbirds, and all the plants, along with the vinegar and her breathing problems. She admitted to cutting the sunflowers. The officer told her that she was lucky we were not going to pursue criminal charges. I had called husband while the officer was there and we decided against criminal charges. The officer warned her, though, that it was considered criminal mischief, and she could incur fines and would have to go to court if she did anything else. Now my husband wants to sue her in small claims court for $100 per plant. I don’t know if it’s worth it. But I am absolutely not going to help her with anything that she might ask. She is fairly independent and keeps to herself most of the time, but she has asked for help occasionally. Mostly, I’m venting, but if anyone has any further ideas on how to handle this, please let me know. submitted by /u/floofienewfie to r/neighborsfromhell [link] [comments]

I am NOT OOP, OOP is u/ThrowRABluffCalled Originally posted to r/relationship_advice Husband, 37M, attempted to manipulate me, 35F. I called his bluff. Now what? Trigger Warnings: emotional abuse and manipulation, verbal abuse, past trauma, suicidal ideation/threats, self-harm, threats of gun violence, assault Mood Spoilers: miraculously positive for OOP Original Post: November 27, 2024 Throwaway because my family uses Reddit! I, 35F, have been married to my husband, 37M, for 5 1/2 years, and we have an 18mo daughter. We have generally had a good marriage, but have repeatedly had the same two arguments for 3+ years. The first argument is that I work full time, pay 85% of our bills and do all of the cooking, cleaning, shopping, laundry, running of the household, etc. He also works full time, but after work comes home and immediately takes his work clothes off, throws them on the couch in my living room and goes into the family room to watch YouTube. I have repeatedly asked for help and get the run around. The second is that he has a small porn addiction and suffers from premature ejaculation. An issue in itself but not our main problem currently. The last week and a half or so, I had been running 80 miles an hour getting ready for the holiday this week. I was cleaning the house, washing the bedding in the guest room, cleaning the fridge, doing all the bits and pieces that you need to do to host family for Thanksgiving. I was also doing all of my daily things as well. For example on a typical day, I wake up make sure his, mine, and the baby's lunches are packed, she's dressed for daycare, my work bag is packed, drive to work. After work I drive to the daycare to pick up baby girl, often taking meetings via phone on the commute. Do any errands that need done (grocery, Costco, pharmacy, etc) come home, immediately breastfeed the baby, start dinner so we can eat once he’s home, give the baby a bath, let her play while I clean off the table, do the dishes, clean the kitchen, tidy up, feed her again, get her to sleep and then finally take a shower myself! It’s basic daily tasks, but I don’t stop until 9-10 at night. Last week I asked again for help but was told that he needed the break because he is tired. I naturally told him that I never get a break and I'm tired too and need help with the house and if he can't contribute half financially he can at least contribute half of the cleaning. He shut down and just gave me the silent treatment for 2 days, then asked me if I wanted to go to his mother's house with him and the baby. I said only if he wasn't going to ignore me the whole time. That was the match that lit the fuse. He EXPLODED. Evidently I have done nothing but bitch for the last 3 years, he hates cleaning and isn't going to do it, that if him contributing is such a big deal then we should divorce. I asked him to explain what that looks like to him. He said "I'll get an apartment and sign the house over to you, refinance it in your name. We'll split custody 50/50 and split her expenses 50/50 as well". He then stormed out of the house and went to his mother's until about 1AM. He again gave me the silent treatment for 2 days. The other day I asked him how his apartment hunting was going and he said "what?" I told him I thought he was right, I had been bitching about this for 3 years, I'm miserable and he's not helping make my life easier. That I agreed divorce is the best option and that I would rather separate as friends and be good coparents than grow to hate him and feel stuck in a toxic marriage. He then said "I only said that to scare you into shutting up." Basically he attempted to emotionally abuse/manipulate me to get his way. As someone who grew up in a toxic and abusive childhood, this immediately shut me down emotionally. Like I look at him and I feel nothing. He is trying now to get back in my good graces, bringing flowers, chocolates... and all it does is make me angrier. I need advice. Is the fact that he tried to manipulate me and ADMITTED it a valid reason for me to just want to shut this down? Because I have to be honest, I'm tempted to ruin Thanksgiving. I don't know if I'm just angry and reacting out of that or if I am truly at the end of my rope. Relevant Comments Commenter 1: Follow through and give him that divorce. You are already taking care of everything, it'll be easier without him in the house with you. And you'll at least get a break during his custody time. I'm honestly just surprised you had a child with him if this has been a problem for 3+ years. OOP: Ha! That was my thought too. And you are right, at first it didn’t seem like a huge issue, and it was only a couple months after I started bringing it up that I got pregnant. Now it’s like he thinks I’m trapped and have to put up with scraps. Commenter 2: He's not just manipulating you - he's exploiting you. You're carrying the financial burden, all household responsibilities, childcare, AND he tried to use divorce as a weapon when you asked for basic partnership. His admission that he was trying to "scare you into shutting up" shows he views your valid needs as an inconvenience to be silenced. You're already functioning as a single parent while bankrolling his lifestyle. The only difference is you have an adult dependent who throws his clothes on your couch and watches YouTube while you exhaust yourself. The flowers and chocolates now aren't remorse - they're panic because his emotional blackmail didn't work. You're not overreacting; you're finally seeing clearly. When someone tells you they'd rather divorce than contribute to their own household, and then admits they were just trying to scare you into compliance - believe that revelation. He's showing you he prioritizes his comfort over your wellbeing and will use emotional warfare to maintain it. You're not angry because of the manipulation attempt - you're angry because it exposed the fundamental disrespect at the core of your marriage. He contributes minimally financially, does nothing domestically, and when confronted, tries to weaponize divorce to silence you. The flowers aren't going to fix this level of betrayal. Commenter 3: He wants 50/50 custody yet cannot manage 50/50 parenting with the other parent in the home. If he's somehow granted 50% custody he is in for a massive shock. Commenter 4: Good. Let him learn. This man fucked around and it's find-out time. OP, you've called a lawyer, right? You need to get the drop on him for filing before his mommy does it for him. And congratulations on your upcoming liberation from the sad freeloading limp dick you're married to. OOP: I have an appointment with one next week for a consult. And what makes me laugh is my SIL knows about the issue and 100% thinks his mom and dad are going to be angry with him. Evidently they have told him he needs to step up previously. OOP explains why her husband only was paying 15% of the bills? OOP: I make double what he makes. So I put down the money for the house. He pays half the mortgage, I pay literally everything else, from utilities to daily living expenses. The other half off the mortgage would hurt, but I could pay it on my own and still have disposable income. Commenter 5: He bought you flowers and chocolates?? You mean he didn't get on his hands and knees and scrub the floors, do the washing. Get the shopping in. Bath the baby. Apply for better paid jobs??? He got flowers and chocolates in response to this? Jeez OOP: I’d settle for using the swiffer honestly. That’s why the chocolates make me so angry! It’s just an avoidance and an “I did something” to try and excuse himself Commenter 6: You don't need permission to leave but here it is anyway: you have permission to leave this really toxic situation and you will probably be happier without him dragging you down. OOP: I don’t know why this comment made me cry, but it did. I think I did need permission to leave. I feel selfish for wanting more and breaking the family. I was raised in a family where divorce wasn’t an option. Now I have cut off my family and don’t have that additional pressure but I guess old wounds still fester. Does OOP's husband do any tasks at home? OOP: He mows the front year and takes the garbage out to the curb. He will empty the recycling bin if it’s full. As far as parenting, he will be in the room with her while she plays, but no real interaction. He does take her to daycare in the morning because it’s on the way to his job. How did OOP and her husband meet? OOP: He found me online. Then turned out I was friends with his brother’s wife already and we had just never met. What do OOP and her husband do for the living? OOP: I work in a corporate job and he is currently courier.   Update: May 14, 2025 (5.5 months later) TW: suicidal ideation/threats, self harm Link to original post: https://www.reddit.com/r/relationship_advice/s/8hrvRGD9mT Hi y’all! It’s been a while since I posted, but I wanted to let things play out and give you a full update. Firstly, I wanted to say thank you to all of you who responded and gave encouragement, you helped more than you know. I did it! I filed for divorce, our divorce should be final mid-June! He fought it for a few months, but finally seems to see that I can’t move on and I won’t let him rug sweep it anymore. He is still talking about hoping for a future reconciliation, but I told him that honestly without massive amounts of therapy for both of us, I don’t see much hope there. Honestly, once he accepted that I wasn’t giving in and that the divorce was real, he was very agreeable to discussing terms and working with me on custody arrangements, housing, etc. That’s not to say we didn’t have our drama, lord knows we did. Fortunately, nothing too physical towards me, he grabbed me a few times trying to force me to stay in a room to get yelled at, but I set him straight real quick there. His threats were mostly towards self harm. The first time was back in February. He was still in denial that I had filed and was very angry about “losing the best things in his life”. He threatened to go downstairs and take his own life. Because I’m stubborn as the day is long and don’t have the sense God gave a goose I followed him down there. I ended up wrestling his gun away and locking myself and the toddler in the bedroom. I should have called the police. I still don’t know why I didn’t. Instead I called his brother and told him to come get him. They did and the next day I took the gun (that was unloaded and NEVER had ammo because he was manipulating me again) to his parents and said if that gun made another appearance in my home or around my child I would ensure he was never around her again. It hasn’t been seen since. A few weeks later, on their bday (toddler and stbx share a bday) he jumped off my two story deck after my daughter’s bday party. I didn’t see it, I came down the hall and our 2 yo said “Mama, Daddy fall”. I walked outside and he was kneeling by my lawnmower, said he was fixing it. Obviously, my 2 yo hasn’t learned to lie yet. I text my friend and said “I’m pretty sure he just jumped off the deck. He doesn’t seem hurt but idk what to do.” As I hit send I hear him on the deck talking to our kid. I looked out the door and he’s leaning off the edge obviously about to jump again. I LOST it. It probably wasn’t the appropriate thing to say, and I probably am a terrible person for saying it, but it worked and I don’t regret it. I told him, “So help me God, if you jump off this deck and die, I will move and your family will likely only see her once a year. You jump off this deck and live and I guarantee you will never see her unsupervised again. You step back over that railing and get both feet on this deck right now, or I swear to God, I’ll make sure of it.” He stepped back on the deck pretty quickly. He of course wanted to then argue about how I am driving him to this. How he doesn’t deserve to be left alone. I’m breaking his heart. I reminded him he spent the last almost 4 years now breaking my heart and spirit and I was done having this conversation. As I turned to walk away, this man grabbed my wrist to force me to turn around. I already had my phone in my hand and I never called 911 so fast. The police showed up and took him to the hospital for a psych evaluation. I was under the impression that a suicide attempt in this state required a 72 hour hold. They released him after 2 hours, suggesting he talk to a therapist. I didn’t want to involve the police, I tried to avoid it, but I kind of wish I had involved them earlier. He has been much more docile and accepting since. No more grabbing, no more threats. We still argue, but at least the worst part seems to have disappeared. It helps that even his parents are telling him “She called the cops on you, she’s crazy, let her go.” I’m fine with being labeled the crazy one. I’ve been called worse by better people. TLDR: Little bit of drama, but everything is going good now and divorce SHOULD be final in mid June!! Send good vibes!! Thank you again. Y’all were the voice of reason I needed, and you have no idea how many times I read those comments when I needed encouragement and felt like I had no one in my corner. Relevant / Top Comments Commenter 1: May be good to document all of these actions with your attorney. And that he be required to have supervised visitation for the foreseeable future, regardless of how he is acting now. He still doesn't sound mentally stable enough to be a sole parent during his time with your child, or beyond some other action such as abducting your kid. Sorry you've gone through all this. But I think your child's safety should be your paramount thoughts. OOP: Absolutely! Have made sure everything is documented and ensured he is in fact seeing a therapist. Fortunately, his time with our kid happens with his parents present, as he is staying there for now. They might not like me very much right now, but I trust them. They have made it very clear that I’m still family to them. Commenter 2: I’m glad you are aiming to be free. But from reading that my heart and stomach plummeted. Especially when you said he is now more docile and accepting. This particular time is now the most dangerous for you and your daughter. He’s unstable and has access to a gun. You need to insist he’s never unsupervised around her. You need to stop being around him. I really hope I’m proven wrong here but everything is pointing to him escalating. Commenter 3: I’m proud of you for getting out. You gave him more chances than most would, and his own actions sealed the deal. He weaponized threats, manipulated your emotions, refused to contribute as a partner, and tried to keep control even through the divorce. You stayed strong through it all, for yourself and your daughter. Here’s to your peace, your freedom, and your future.   DO NOT COMMENT IN LINKED POSTS OR MESSAGE OOPs – BoRU Rule #7 THIS IS A REPOST SUB - I AM NOT OOP submitted by /u/Choice_Evidence1983 to r/BestofRedditorUpdates [link] [comments]

The front of our house has some pretty plain landscaping that I really want to spruce up with a flowed bed. I see a number of houses that have done this exact thing by building a flower bed with landscape stone and it can look nice, but it really bugs me when the house is brick and the stones used are obviously different. My wife and I agree that our house would look really nice with a flower bed that matches the house, and I do have over 100 of the original bricks that have not been used. I think they were left by the builders 30 years ago and none of the previous owners knew what to do with them. I also have mortar from a different project. My thought was to try my hand at creating a brick and mortar flower bed. I’ve never laid brick, but I’m pretty handy and the bed wouldn’t be more than maybe 4 bricks tall. Besides never laying brick, I also know that I would need a cement base in the soil, and possibly waterproofing inside so the moisture doesn’t destroy the clay bricks in a few years. So my question - is building a brick and mortar flower bed a good idea, or will this turn out to be more trouble than it’s worth? First picture is current state and then with a rendering of the flower bed. I would continue the white rocks between the edging and flower bed. submitted by /u/Correct_Influence347 to r/DIY [link] [comments]

Long post. I need somewhere to write about losing my 17-year-old senior. I have no options to talk about this to my friends as it is expected from me to behave in a typical Balkan-male fashion and not cry, especially not over a geriatric cat. Also, English is not my first language, so sorry for potential errors in advance. My buddies would 100% make this situation into a joke, and it's not a joke to me so I prefer to keep this to myself – but I need to put it somewhere. The eldest of my cats, my soul-cat and best cat in the world, died this Saturday. She had hyperthyroidism and for the last 4 years she was on medication. I noticed the dementia start to develop about 4 weeks ago. Then it got worse. She still did not suffer, but was very confused. I took time off work to be with her and tend to all her needs. I hardly slept because I was hyperfocused on her and all her needs. She also started to show signs of arthritis so I followed her everywhere and helped her get around. I decided to be with her until the end so I took more time off work and when I could not take any more days off, I started working from home – I wanted her to die in her bed, in her house and all I wanted was for her to not be alone. The day before her death, she “forgot” how to drink water and eat. She would just lick air over bowls. This is when I started to think about euthanasia but was still opposed to the idea because my soul-cat was extremely afraid of the vet and I did not want her to die in fear. That night, the night before she passed, we were both awake. She was just lying there with her eyes open as I petted and hugged her (she was purring). The next morning we were both exhausted. This is when she had a stroke. It was horrible to witness that. I held her through it, and somehow she managed to stay alive, but paralyzed in her back paws. I will never forget this – she lied there, so helpless, and then she looked at me. This is probably my imagination, but I swear her eyes were lucid after a long time of slow cognitive decline. I got this very intense feeling that she is saying to me: “I can't do this any longer, I'm sorry – please let me go.” I always followed her wishes. So I made her comfortable and went to get the carrier. I was feeling so bad because during her entire life, 17 years, she was always horrified of the carrier. I expected her to be horrified and try to run (even with hind legs paralyzed) but to my shock – as soon as I brought the carrier close she started to crawl on her front paws trying to get in. We arrived at the vet. Another shock – she showed no fear whatsoever. She was sedated first and as she was falling asleep she looked relieved for the first time in the last 3-4 weeks. Then, when she fell asleep, they euthanized her. I cried like a baby the entire time, there was no stopping tears. I cried there at the vet for 30+ minutes probably, unable to speak – and they let me. They probably didn't know what to do with me, I guess. I am a large male with “rugged” appearance, so that must have been a sight to see because everybody there witnessed the river of tears that ran down my face (for the first time in my life) and I gave no fucks. I could not speak because I was choking on tears. I managed to collect myself and take her body home. I cried all the way home. I held a vigil for her (24 hours) in case she woke up (this is probably stupid because it was obvious she had passed, but I had to do it). The next day I took her to the wooded area that I own, behind my house, and made her a fairy tale resting place surrounded with trees and flowers. I burried her in a c small coffin I made, covered her with her favorite blankets and I also put her favorite toy ih her coffin. I will visit her grave every day, of course. I feel like I am missing a huge chunk of my soul, and I am afraid I will never get it back. This is it, I feel better now, thank you. Edit: thank you all for this massive, massive support. I am trying to answer each and every one poster as soon as I can - this post and this sub really helps to manage my pain, you are all such wonderful people! submitted by /u/Daktari_s_retajima to r/seniorkitties [link] [comments]

I am not OP. That is u/Unlikely_Cap_713 who posted to r/MarkNarrations TW: death, cancer Original Post Sept 7th, 2024 Throw away because I have family on my main I 37F have two siblings 43M and 29F. For the sake of the post, I will call them Mason and Brittney. Our father died when we were young due to an undiagnosed heart problem. His parents had gifted them an old family homestead on a lot of land at their wedding and helped a lot to keep our family above water before they passed. Our mother finally found her feet after about 5 years of deep depression and did well for our family. But she was also very frugal. We had good clothing but no fancy vacations. Our mother had ignored signs of bad health for years, even when we tried to get her to go see someone for it. She passed away recently due to late stage cancer, leaving us with a lot. My siblings each got more than 150,000 in money, sentimental but expensive items, and furniture. I did not get the money. I received the house, the land and some items. The house and land (which had been sold off bit by bit over the years due to mom's declining health and inability to properly tend to it) is worth far below the 150,000 my siblings received. I had moved in with mother near her end, and it really was only supposed to be temporary as I believed the house would be sold after her passing and the money split three ways. I already had a plan to roommate with a friend and her family after mom's death to make that process go more smoothly. Most of my stuff has been sitting in storage for almost a year. As the only one who worked from home, I could watch the home health workers and nurses to make sure they were being kind, doing their jobs, and not stealing. Mostly, it was to make sure they treated my mother with respect and kindness but my brother did worry about someone walking off with her wedding ring since she was so attached to it. We all agreed for it to be placed in with her ashes. So I made a little set up and took care of her. My siblings came by frequently, 3-6 times a week, each of them. Mason had 2 kids and Brittney only has 1 but they visited as well, though not as much near the end because it was hard for them. So in the weeks leading up to her death, my mother had me pack up what items went to who in large boxes and set them off to the side. My siblings hated me doing this but understood it was what she wanted. The will was read, they checked their boxes to make sure my mom didn't miss anything when telling me to pack, and they left me to my house. Weeks passed and I finally felt like I could start doing things to the house. Now, I did say the house was dingy. Its not worth 150,000 but the housing market is crazy so I thought it was a bit of a luck. It needs repairs: the roof, the chimney, the water heater, some pipes, the doors and windows for heating purposes, and everything inside is so darkly painted or made of wood that just sucks out all of the light. I immediately had people checking the roof, the chimney and the water heater. My siblings offered to lend me the money but I declined as I had been saving for a while to buy an apartment or something small since it is only me. I could also rent rooms for the local college students to get some of that money back. I picked out paints for different rooms but decided to leave the wood flooring. As I started going through everything in the house, which had specifically been left to me as stated in the will, I began finding things. Money in books, and there are so many books. Money taped under beds, money folded into the "fancy sheets", money hidden in the tea pot and cups that has been passed down int the family which we had never been allowed to touch in fear we might break them. I found jewelry in different boxes, hidden in the attic, the vents, in sock drawers. Some of it was so gaudy it had to be costume but I put it all together (thank goodness I did) and took it to be appraised. The worth of the jewelry is nearly half of what my siblings got, even the would-be costume jewelry is worth something. Even now, I'm still finding things. I found antique items, fancy watches, untouched clothing and bags with price tags still on them, belts and shoes still in their boxes. All of this was tucked away, apparently hidden, and not talked about. Some of the clothing still had recites, and since neither I nor my sister can wear them I took them back to see if I could get the refunds or started selling them online - since, again, everything left in the house was specifically left to me. I took the cash and used it to help pay for the immediate repairs, and it almost covered the whole thing. I looked through the jewelry and kept what I liked, which was very little as I am not into that sort of thing, and put aside some for my sister and my brother's daughter. I liquidated the rest and put that into savings. I also put aside some of the bags and belts and watches for my siblings and their families. We can't fit the clothes but those things are easier to swap around. I invited everyone over and gifted them the items, telling them I had found them while I was cleaning everything out and thought they may like to have them. Everyone was happy to get them, and there wasn't much bickering among the kids. They asked what else I found and I explained the jewelry I kept and the clothing I was selling off. My brother got a weird look on his face and asked if I had found any money. I told him I had, but tried to downplay it as mostly change and loose bills. He asked to see the money and I grabbed a giant water refill container I had started storing all the coins in. He told me that was a lot of coins and asked if I was going to use it for the laundry mat since I left them all loose. I rolled my eyes because I have a washer/dryer set. I told him there was no point in cashing them in until I cleaned the whole house. He told me to let them know so we could all split that and the money I got from selling the clothing. When I asked why, he said "So we can split it." I asked him why I would split it when they all had gotten large cash inheritances, sentimental and expensive things, and some other things? I literally got the house, the problems, the clean up and the nice things I did find that I thought they might like, I handed over without being asked to. He told me I didn't have to be a greedy asshole about it and to never mind. My sister gave me the side eye but didn't say anything. But I feel guilty for misleading how much I had actually found, even though it was all put towards making the house better. To be clear: all of my mother's debts were paid and she had money set aside for the funeral service and cremation. So AITA? Update Sept 11th, 2024 Throw Away account Edit: spelling. Firstly, I wanted to thank everyone for their kind words and bits of advice. I felt much better after reading so many of the NTAs comments. I also took to heart the "shut your mouth" comments, even if a few of them seemed a little rude. Onto the update. My house (still feels weird saying/typing this) already had outside cameras due to when I moved in and installed them. But I did go and add more to the property line, inside the house in key spots, and around the garage. I also put up no trespassing signs while I look through companies that do proper fences. The property is just small enough I can swing the fence. I did change the locks as soon as I read the advice to do so. I hadn't thought about that, since I work from home. Mom also kept a spare hidden in a plant because my sister used to lose everything constantly so I made sure to remove it and not replace it with the new one. Its a good thing I did all of this because two days after my initial post, I had to run into town for groceries and a few quick errands. I live on the outskirts with neighbors a bit of a distance either way so they wouldn't notice anyone stopping by. I got a notification on my phone about movement and I checked because I wasn't expecting any packages. My brother was getting out of his car, looked around, and checked the windows. He tried his key in the door and got upset it didn't work. He checked the flower plant and kicked it over. The cameras around the house let me communicate so I just said, "That was rude" into the speaker. He jumped and spun around to see nothing. I asked him what he wanted and he demanded to know why I put up cameras. I said, "Because I'm a single woman living in the woods? Ya dumb shit." He shifted from foot to foot before saying he would be back so we could talk and he left. I messaged the video evidence of him trying to get in while I wasn't home to him, his wife, my sister and her fiancé. With the message I sent - I changed the locks because I don't know who mom gave them out to - like her friends - and I have cameras. Because of this attempt to get in while I'm not home, no one will be getting the new key. I don't just randomly try to get into your house when your not home." He sent me a lot of nasty texts after that, trying to shame me for doing that. I told him he shouldn't be doing things he doesn't want others to know about, and that its a reflection on him, not me. He told me I was a bitch and blocked me. My sister thinks I went too far by telling his wife, because she is threatening to take the kids to her mom's. And she thinks I went too far by showing her fiancé because now he doesn't want him to have keys to their's for emergencies. Somehow, I get the feeling this isn't over yet. Time to adopt a very big dog. Update 2 Sept 14th, 2024 Firstly, thank you everyone who made new comments and gave more advice. I particularly enjoyed the entire mini-thread about the geese guards. Super amazing and cute idea. But I have a terrible fear of birds. So I am adopting a bonded pair of doggos from my local shelter. Once my name clears from the "cruel to animals" list of "these gross people aren't allowed to adopt" list, I can take them home. No pictures yet, I'm afraid. I really wasn't set on making another post. Or if I did, it would be when this is all washed and done. I did start a paper trail with both the police and a lawyer, who is a family friend. I documented the attempted break in, didn't press charges but had them speak with my brother, and have him put on notice. He ended up getting new phone numbers, yes with an S, to contact me to berate me and shame me for "siccing those pigs on (him)". I took all of those messages to the lawyer and sent off a few things: a cease and desist for the alarming numbers of calls, texts, social media DMs and emails he sent me. Some were full of rage about how I "took his kids from him" and the others were about how he "knew you rat bitch found money in the house". Not once did he mention the post and honestly I'm done enough with him that I don't care if he sees it because LAWRENCE SAYS YOU CAN'T TOUCH THIS MASON (fake name) Anyway. My sister "Brittney" (fake name) asked me out to coffee and apologized for taking Mason's side. She just didn't want the friction and thought the three of us could have worked it out together instead of getting others involved. She and her fiancé have the understanding that he handles his family and she does her's. I guess, for like disputes and things. So by sending it to him before she had a chance to even react to it, it felt like overstepping because I didn't give her the chance to do literally anything before her fiancé was losing his mind. I did apologize because I hadn't thought of it like that. I asked her what she would have done if I had just sent her the video and she said she would have sat on it for like a day to think about it and then probably would have asked me for more information or talked to him to see what the hell he was thinking. She also said I was a "fucking moron" for saying the gifts I had given everyone had been from the house. I should have said something about a bonus at work or something. I have no reason to trust her but it makes sense so I am going to cautiously keep in mind that she does have a harder time getting thoughts and emotions across in a "normal" way. Our parents weren't into the whole "test your child for xyz" so she has been struggling with the idea of being tested for certain neurodivergent tendencies. All this said, I found something really weird and I don't want to open it. In the basement, tucked far into a corner and buried behind a bookshelf and under boxes and boxes of things is an ancient looking freezer. It was and still is plugged in. Its running. It was buried and dusty in a way that I know there is no edible food inside of it. But you ever get that feeling that something just....isn't right? Do I open it? Do I pretend I never saw it? Do I have someone else open it? Any ideas about why it was hidden? My one friend joked it was my grandfather's game box and it has decades old deer inside of it. Is that a thing? Update 3 Sept 15th, 2024 I wanted to thank everyone for the words of advice and ideas how to go about finding out what is in the freezer. I also have a mini update on Mason (fake name). I will get the freezer out of the way because I know so many are eager to hear about it. I called over my lawyer friend Lawrence (fake name, neat lil play on words yeah?) and explained that I needed more information on a few things but would need a house call because of the contractors coming and going. When he arrived and no one was there, he looked annoyed until I explained the freezer. He told me if we found a body, he was bailing but was laughing as we went down to the basement. This was all yesterday. We put on gloves and the masks. He held the camera, and said all this identifying stuff like date, time address, ect. I opened it. Inside were important documents sealed in a lot of plastic. There were also old bottles of moonshines, frozen pressed flowers in a book with dates, a bit of cash (coins, specifically) and an ancient looking porcelain doll. The documents were birth certificates and death certificates going back quite a while. It looks like I would have had another sibling if they had lived, and I would have had three more aunts if they had lived, and a few other even older relatives. We figure the flowers were from the funerals or services, considering the dates attached the pages the flowers were pressed. The bottles....jars, really... of moonshine looked old. The only reason I knew it was moonshine was thanks to Lawrence. He said alcohol doesn't usually freeze and he opened it, and told me based on the smell. The coins will be appraised very soon, as I am also still going through all the other coins I have found in the curtains, and other odd places. Thank you to the redditor who told me to look in the curtains. As for the doll, it looks very old but in good condition. It was in a box and wrapped with cloth, old newspapers and more. Lawrence thinks the hair on its head is real and human, because it certainly isn't synthetic. I had to dry it off after it thawed and there is a name smudged on its foot. Its sitting on my living room coffee table right now. I'm not sure what to do with it. The news paper dates give us a vague idea of the time frame it was put away in and its old. Onto Mason. His wife has filed for divorce. She is going for full custody. She has the kids with her at her mother's. She reached out to me and explained that Mason had told her the only thing left was the house and it was willed to all three of them, and that he was waiting for me to buy out his part of the house. But when I sent that message, something seemed hinky. So she started to dig. Mason has maxed out all their credit cards, the house is now on a reverse mortgage when it had been paid off, and he opened a few in her name. He didn't use that "life changing money" left to him to pay off any of that. She isn't sure where the money went but when she locked down her credit, it left him unable to use the cards he took out in her name and it sparked a massive fight. I can't even begin to imagine where the money has gone. He doesn't have new cars, new devices, new anything. Their two kids 14F and 10M are both old enough to understand what is going on. They won't talk to him until he tells them why they are losing their childhood home, why he hurt their mom, and where all the money is. My niece knows all the accounts are empty, including her college account and she is furious. My nephew isn't as worried about college (understandable). Mason keeps messaging me about how "its all (your) fault" and just overall being nasty. I would have blocked him if it wasn't for the fact we are collecting evidence. My sister admitted he is ranting to her about it all but she doesn't want to get him upset at her because they live just a few blocks away from each other so its easier for him to come knocking on her door. Despite that, she will not be staying with me. My fence should be starting built any day now. I will be getting my two doggos tomorrow. I think I have everything I need. So, that is everything so far. Update 4 Sept 22nd, 2024 Hello everyone! I'm sorry its been a bit since I updated. Between the fence, the new doggos, and problems with Mason, I just didn't have time to update. So to start, I am very sorry to say that I have forgotten my doggy tax. When I have time or remember, I will post them on this profile. One is a pittie and one is a German Shepard. They are both high energy but not what one would consider "pups", though they are my pups. Next, thank you everyone for your wonderful insight and ideas. I did pass along to my (soon to be ex) SIL about checking her children's credit. I checked mine as well. The kids have smaller problems with their credit now, thanks to Mason. She locked down credit and I sent Lawrence (my lawyer, fake name) to speak with her and he set her on a path of wrecking Mason with one of his lawyer friends who specializes in this sort of thing. My credit was not touched but I have locked it down, and I warned my sister of the same but I haven't heard back. To clear a few things up quickly. When my SIL told me they were "underwater on the house" I had translated that to a "reverse mortgage" because there was a big celebration years ago about them finally paying it off. When SIL locked down her credit, she jumped through hoops and got the several cards that she did not open shut down. I don't know those details but it was done very quickly. Yes, several. So for the confusion, I do apologize. I wanted to keep things short. I won't be able to do much in terms of trust funds for my niblings, unfortunately, but I am the trustee or overseer of the ones my mother had set up for them. Debating heavily on telling them/my SIL because word might get back to Mason. I fronted three month's worth of rent for my SIL so she could get her own place so that the courts had no reason to look at her with suspicion. Mason is quickly going to lose the house and I don't want any reason to chance her custody. Another reason I did that was so that she and the kids could get to somewhere he didn't know about. All contact is now through lawyers. Mason went to her mother's house while they were all out to a school function and destroyed the place. They are still trying to figure out if anything was taken. Furniture, pictures, and decorations were smashed, clothing (including his own kids') were shredded, and he threw mud all around the house. He popped tires on my SIL's car, and threatened the neighbors. The neighbors called the cops, there was a problem during the arrest, and he and one of the cops were sent to the ER for stitches. How he managed bail money, I don't know. But I suspect he bullied our sister Brittney into it. Because she has been radio silent during all of this. I think he may have taken up staying with her. The house is going to be taken any day now, and my SIL is fighting to keep her car. That was what my SIL told me. Mason has been nonstop messaging and calling me. He even started a smear campaign on social media, getting our extended family to ream me out for not supporting a grieving man who just lost his mother, his wife, his kids, his house and his dignity. When I spoke with them it quickly became apparent he circulated one hell of a bullshit story that painted me as a wicked sister who stole everything from him and that's why I could afford to do all the work on the house. Like, I have a drug problem and dried up everything he had for drugs, rehab and more. All. Bullshit. Even after talking with them, not very many believe me. My fence is being built, and work around the house is still ongoing. I added a home security system and a few hidden baseball bats because some of the DMs I got about what he could do scared me. I added extra locks around the house and am considering getting rid of the sliding glass door or getting something to lock it like a gate. Lawrence warned me putting too much going forward might harm my case of a restraining order and slander. So if I update it might not be for a while unless something wild happens. I am not the original poster. Please don't contact or comment on linked posts submitted by /u/secure-raspberry-763 to r/BestofRedditorUpdates [link] [comments]

I am not The OOP, OOP is u/Puzzled_Cut9144 I think my husband is sleeping with the babysitter Originally posted to r/Marriage TRIGGER WARNING: possible infidelity Original Post Dec 13, 2023 I’m still trying to process this in my mind while typing this out. Husband and I have been together for 6 years married for 4. We have 2 children a 2 year old, and 4 year old. Both of us work full time, I’m realtor and husband owns his own business. We’ve had a number of different nannies in the past. Sometimes our parents end up watching the kids. About 8 months ago my husband told me that one of his friend’s daughter (we’ll call her Ella(20F) ) was looking for a part time job during college. We live in a small college town, so her commute wouldn’t be far. We tried her out one night, and it went smoothly. She’s always been nice to me, and the kids love her. My suspicions started last month when I came home early to find my husband had been home. Ella was also at the house babysitting. I asked my husband why he didn’t send her home if he was home. His response was “She’s just trying to make a little money, and that the kids were having fun”. Then 2 weeks ago I drove by my husband’s office on the way to a meeting, and her car was parked there. I asked my husband later about what Ella was doing at the office. He said that she probably stopped by to see her dad. Now when I come home home Ella is always dressed up more with makeup done, and heels on. 2 days ago I found strands of blonde hair in the back seat of my husband’s truck. I have blonde hair, but this was closer to Ella’s shade. Also I don’t think my husband would do anything in the backseat since he’s 6’6 240 pounds. Last night I found the opportunity to check my husband’s phone while he was with the kids. I didn’t find any romantic texts between them, but I could definitely tell that text messages had been deleted. If you read the conversation it didn’t make sense, because it was obviously missing the middle part. I talked to my friend this morning, and she pointed out that my husband has a type (blonde women). Ella falls perfectly in that category. Should I confront him right now, or should I wait to find something more concrete? Update 1: Nanny is currently at the house right now. Tracked husband using Find my iPhone, and he’s also headed home (30 minute drive). They both think I’ll be working until 7pm today. I’m going to walk into the house 15 minutes after husband gets home unannounced. Not sure what the plan is if I catch them. I unfortunately don’t have access to his phone logs, since his phone plan is through his business. We have cameras on the outside of the house. We have a baby monitor near the kid’s bed. I’m not ready to fire her unless I get solid evidence of my husband cheating. I need to know if my husband is having any sort of romantic relationship with her first. Update 2: I wasn’t able to get the concrete evidence I was looking for, but some more circumstantial evidence. Tracked husband through find my iPhone. He stopped on his way home at the grocery store for 10 minutes. I decided to park and wait on a side street. That way I could see when my husband would get home. Husband got home at 5:30pm. Ella was scheduled to work until 6pm. We have a long gravel driveway that leads to our house, I decided to park near the barn so I wouldn’t be heard pulling up to the house. Walked in the front door, and found Ella feeding my 4 year old. She was also preparing dinner in the kitchen. Today she had on a tight top, skirt, and platform heels. I asked if she knew where my husband was, she replied “he was upstairs taking a shower”. She then immediately went over to the living room to pick up her phone and send a text message to someone. Also in the living room were a fresh bouquet of flowers. I asked her about the flowers, and she said a guy she’s been seeing gave them to her today. She said she didn’t want to leave them in the car, so she brought them inside. I asked her about the guy that she was seeing. She said he was from school, and wasn’t sure if it was going anywhere. I went upstairs to see if my husband left his phone was in the bedroom. He left his phone on the dresser. Sure enough the newest text message was from Ella that read “Your wife is home” I tried looking up the deleted messages on his phone, but they had been permanently deleted. I decided to wait in our bedroom for my husband to come out of the shower. He comes out and is surprised to see me in the bedroom. Told him my 6:30 showing got canceled. I tried to initiate sex to see how he would react. He said he didn’t feel comfortable doing it while Ella was in the house. At this point Ella was upstairs in my younger son’s room which shares a wall with our room. Ella leaves the house at 6pm with the flowers. After dinner my husband mentioned to me about buying Ella a new car for Christmas, and his reasoning was that her car was old and not safe for our kids to ride in. I told him that I would think about it. I’m thinking about firing her on Monday without telling my husband, and see how they both react. I’m still trying to process everything going on. Still hoping all of this is just me overthinking. I really love my husband, and I can’t stand the thought of our beautiful family splitting up. Thanks for all the advice RELEVANT COMMENTS whimsyoak Not sure if this has been asked yet but: (1) how did you guys meet her? (2) is her father your husband’s colleague? OOP Ella’s dad is one of the sales reps that works for my husband. ~ britnastyyy The car purchase suggestion to me was the fishiest thing of all. OOP Ella’s family is not a family of means, but she now has a new IPhone, new clothes, jewelry, and shoes. I didn’t put both together until my husband suggested buying her a brand new car. We share a bank account for bills, but we also both have separate accounts. Also I just remembered last week my husband came home with a new jacket. He told me that he liked it, so he bought it. My husband never buys clothes for himself. ~ acnh_evergreen There’s no reason to be coming in heels and all dressed up to babysit two toddlers if there wasn’t something else going on. OOP I 100% agree with this. When she first started she would come in baggy clothing. Now she comes in dresses or skirts. My husband likes my nails white. Ella has white nails now too. AmberIsla That’s sus OOP Husband has a foot fetish, which is why the heels are messing with my head so much. She went from sneakers to sandal heels. Update Dec 17, 2023 I would like to thank everyone for their support, and ideas on how to deal with this situation. Yesterday morning I met up with Ella and told her that we wouldn’t be needing her services anymore due to my little sister being available to watch the kids (which is true). She quietly said that she understood, and said to let her know if I would change my mind. Husband called me 5 minutes later sounding very upset about Ella being fired. I think Ella told him, but he claimed her dad told him that we fired her. I told him that was my final decision, and there was no changing it. He came home 20 minutes later and asked me why I didn’t talk to him first about firing her. I told him about everything I’ve noticed between them from the texts to the clothing attire she wears. He denied everything, and said it was all in my head. I told him if you want this marriage not to end in a divorce he had to cut all contact with Ella. After 1 hour of arguing he finally agreed to not contact her anymore. I honestly don’t have the mental energy to deal with a divorce, split my kids, date again. I don’t want to be the single mom always busy and unhappy. I told him to never bring her up again. I don’t know 100 percent if they had an affair, but I think it’s better for my health not to find out. I think I’m going to quit my job, and raise my kids, work on my marriage. I’m not sure if this was all because I’ve been working a lot of hours and have been distant from my husband. Thanks again for all the support. One more thing men stop messaging me pictures of your private parts on Reddit. RELEVANT COMMENTS OOP Completely forgot to add that I told his mom. Big-Red-7 What did his mom say? OOP Said not to worry about it, and that she’ll take care of it. He’s been at her house all day. I trust her, because I’m closer to her than my mom. Lol THIS IS A REPOST SUB - I AM NOT THE OOP submitted by /u/Direct-Caterpillar77 to r/BestofRedditorUpdates [link] [comments]

This update has taken longer to get around to than I originally intended. A lot of things have happened over the last couple of days that have kept me pretty busy and it really wasn't until today when I had some free time after lunch that I could sit down and get this out. I'll try to get through as much as I can. Before that, however, I just want to mention a couple of things in response to comments from the last post. I'll try to be brief. Firstly - I don't know much of what's going on with Marty and his divorce, other than to my knowledge, he's still divorcing her. Obviously no papers or anything, but the intention is clear. In addition to that, I'm not really in the position to be advocating for any sort of course of action that Marty should take, or offering him legal advice, or assisting him in doing anything to the other man, or tracking down the other mans wife, etc. Marty is a grown ass man and he can do whatever he wants with the situation and my position, as his friend, is just to support him and offer advice - if he asks for it. Secondly, this isn't some sort of guerilla marketing for an Only Fans girl. If it was, I should have done it on the first post which hit the front page of Reddit and was seen by over 3 million people. Also, given that this post got so popular on Reddit, it's not really a surprise that "Bimbo Wife Mandy", another Redditor, happened to be following the story and saw her name. It could have easily been any other of the hundreds and hundreds (maybe even thousands) of girls who use Reddit to post their pictures. And as a brief aside - speaking of "Mandy", I have indeed talked to her, she was actually quite helpful in confirming something for me and as a person she seems quite nice but guys... there is no romance plans here in the future. Mandy is married, evidently quite happily so and for almost two decades (I think the handle "Bimbo WIFE Mandy" should have given that away) and frankly while her husband must be cool with it, she's way too much for a mere insurance guy like me to handle. Seriously. So, with that all out of the way, on to the update - Last time I wrote in, I ended it up with me assuming that my brother had used my office computer to chat with "Mandy" but it was too late (his time) for me to contact him. I am one of those guys that once a problem is put in front of him, I MUST be actively working on trying to solve it. This is great for my career choice, but in situations like this, all I was doing was driving myself insane. So, I decided to take a deep breath, leave everything until later and carry on with what I needed to do. First thing up was attempting to contact every person from my side that I had invited to the wedding that I had not yet informed about it's cancelation. As you may recall, I had already informed my parents and had them contact my relatives on the day I made up my mind, but only myself and Sarah have the complete guest list, so I needed to do the rest myself. Out of respect for my friends, I decided to call instead of text, but this might have been a bad idea since every phone call typically resulted in a rather lengthy explanation of why I was canceling the wedding. I know I could have given some other excuse, but I wanted people to know that I wasn't being frivolous or just experiencing something inane like "cold feet". It was important, not just for my own reputation, but I think in order to show respect to the people who had agreed to come on that day to support myself and Sarah as a couple. Because of this, it wasn't until late into the evening when I finally managed to contact everyone, which meant it was now morning time in Australia. I knew what I needed to do but I wanted to make sure that my ducks were all in a row, so I took a breather and made a sandwich in the kitchen. I noticed that Sarah wasn't home - I had no idea when she left and sat down to eat and think about what to do with my brother's situation. Let's call my brother "Karl" for the sake of shortness here. Now, Karl and I have always been pretty close despite him being 13 years older than me. He was this sort of quasi-parental figure in my life because by the time I became capable of having long term memories, he was already well on his way to becoming an adult. He was always generous with his time, played with his little brother when other teenagers would probably have avoided such an activity like the plague and generally seemed very mature and wise to me growing up. Suffice it to say, I respected him greatly. The idea that he had been sexting with a girl who wasn't his wife, in my house, was something that I was still coming to grips with and I needed to decide what to do. Talking to him about it was obvious, but at this point given how much of a shambles my relationship with Sarah was, I didn't know if I cared about having him "confess" just for the sake of clearing my name. Was there anything to salvage anyway? I needed to, for my own sake of propriety, at least yell at him about this and convince him to stop. However, I wasn't sure if I was going to rat him out or not to my SIL (let's call her "Karen", alright - Karl and Karen it is guys). It all depended on what he told me and if I believed him or not. I finished my meal and logged into Facebook and video called Karl. Now, Karl works mostly from home as a remote office worker since his field is related to IT and he's almost always available during the day and today was no exception. It didn't even ring more than once or twice before he answered. We greeted each other, exchanged some pleasantries and then I just sort of dove into it and asked him if he had been using my computer to sex chat women on the internet when he was visiting me. Karl's face froze and he leaned over out of frame of the camera. He was obviously closing his office door. "Yeah, I did - why?" he said to me. I swore under my breath and explained to Karl how Sarah had thought that his flirting was me, since he used my computer. I explained that I wasn't happy to take the hit for him and I asked him point blank if Karen knew about this or not. He waffled for a few seconds, stumbling over his words and then looked a bit sheepish and said that no, Karen didn't know, and he'd prefer if it was kept that way. He went on to explain that their relationship had been pretty rough since their youngest was born 4 years ago - mainly in the bedroom department. Karl had always been a pretty private person, especially when it came to intimate details, or at least he had always been that way when talking to his much younger baby brother. However, this time he just let it all lay out. Things had been bad, he had been tired of getting rejected, Karen was always tired no matter what he did or how much he helped out around the house. Eventually this lead to problems on his side - some sort of performance anxiety on the few occasions where Karen would actually feel up for some bedroom fun and things just got worse from there. Basically he said, "There's no amount of socks picked up, laundry folded, dishes washed, or time spent minding children that would get me laid. It was just not happening, so I started to spend time in my office at night 'working'" - he even did the finger quotes when saying this. Evidently his "working" at night turned into a pretty hardcore addiction to OnlyFans sites, which given the relative privacy he had in his office for legitimate work, spiraled out of control pretty quickly. I asked him if he was still doing it and he swore up and down that he wasn't. I thought I believed him when he said it. He seemed to be sincere. But I just had this niggling feeling in the back of my skull that something was off. Maybe it was because of all of the deceit I had encountered recently, but I was doubting my own brother who has really been a stand up guy to me our entire lives together. I really hated being in this situation. Now, the problem I faced was pretty complex here - First, if I wanted to "clear my name" then I would have to get my brother to tell Sarah that it was him all along. However, if he did that, then there was no guarantee that Sarah wouldn't spitefully inform Karen. I personally thought it would be best if Karen knew, but at the same time I didn't know if I felt comfortable potentially dropping a nuke on my brothers marriage over something he not only said he stopped, but is in this sort of moral grey area for me. I didn't have an answer right away as to what to do, but I did urge him to tell his wife about this and to get into marriage counseling. He said that they actually had been going for the last 6 months and while it was helpful, what had really helped him was getting a prescription for some generic Viagra. I actually did a spit take at that, neatly spraying my computer screen with water. He told me that they had been trying to make sure they have "intimate time" at least a couple of times a week and the Viagra had cured him of his performance anxiety to the point where now they were both looking forward to spending time together after the kids went to bed. The general gist of this was something along the lines of, "Hey, this is actually going in the right direction now, please don't screw this up for us." I really, really, REALLY didn't want to be in this position, not just for the sake of Karl and Karen, but for my two nieces as well - and if what Karl was telling me was the truth, I could be tossing a firebomb into a relationship that was starting to mend. It was unpredictable what would happen ,so yeah - it may disappoint some people but at the time I felt that the best option I had was to wait and see. I was, after all, going to meet him in a couple of weeks in the flesh and once I got him alone in a room and a few drinks into him, I was going to definitely get to the bottom of this. It seemed like the best course of action. Anyway, that night I went to bed early. I didn't see Sarah until the next morning. She looked haggard, like she had a distinct lack of sleep. I asked her where she had been, mostly out of habit, after all we had been together for almost 6 years. She told me that she had gone down to the court house for Evelyn's arraignment to post bail (the courts here close at 1pm on the weekends, which is why she had disappeared soon after I went into my office) and that afterwards she had driven her to her parents house and spent the night. She made a point of telling me how horrible it was to have to explain to her parents that I had called off the wedding. I asked her if her parents knew the reason why and she barked, "Of course they do!" I tried to remain calm but by this point in this ordeal I was losing it. I bit back at her - "Are you going to move back there so that they have BOTH girls at home now?" It was childish and petty, but the fact that she bailed Evelyn out of jail annoyed me to no end. "You don't need to be an ass about this!" she said, to which I said, "And you don't need to be Evelyn's f-cking underling!" I could see Sarah visibly flinch when I said that to her. It obviously had struck a chord and the corners of her eyes started to tear up and I cooled my temper. We just sort of stood there, miles apart in the living room of our house and didn't say anything for a good solid minute or two until Sarah decided to continue talking. "Our parents are going to be here at three." I actually face palmed at this. I was about to go off on her for not consulting me on this, but decided that was just my own ego. After all, I did need to sit down with them and work out the details around the wedding and whatever remaining deposit we had and I needed to, at least once, face to face explain to everyone why it wasn't happening. So fine, let's do this and get it out of the way. I tried to make myself busy, but there isn't much you can do on a Sunday except waste time and time wasting isn't very enjoyable when you know you are heading into the meat grinder in just a few hours. Still, 3pm came and so did our parents. We all sat down at the large kitchen table that Sarah had bought just a month after we closed on the house. It was second hand, from Facebook marketplace, but she loved it because it was solid oak with a beautiful finish and capable of seating 8 (and just as heavy as that sounds). She always wanted to have big dinner parties with our families over, just not like this. The next three hours were grueling. No one was happy, nor should they be I guess. The best support I could get came unsurprisingly from my own parents, but even that was tempered. Essentially along the lines of "Well, it's his decision to make" which more or less means, "Yeah, we think this is crazy too, but we're still backing him." Honestly, that was fine with me. I didn't need my parents to get the stigma by association of canceling the wedding. I was fine with owning that. Eventually we worked out a decent deal in regards to the wedding - We would try to get back whatever money we could, split it back however it was contributed (some things like the honeymoon were all paid by me, or the flowers were all paid for by Sarah's parents) and then eat whatever losses there were communally. However, when it came to the subject of the house, Sarah vehemently objected to my idea of paying back her or her parents for the deposit. Basically, she didn't intend to move. Now, as you might imagine, Sarah and I hadn't really talked about the "us" or "us living together" situation in too much detail. The fact that I even brought up settling the house equity seemed to shock her because the implication here is that I expect her to move out of our home. She threw a fit and I don't blame her - I should have settled our relationship status with her first before trying to negotiate a payment plan with her parents. It really tipped my hand to everyone about how I was feeling about or relationship and while I think our parents expected it, or at least understood, Sarah was beside herself. She was absolutely not accepting of us breaking up over this and she made it clear. "I am not moving out of my house and we are not breaking up." she declared. And that's pretty much how my Sunday night ended. After our parents left, Sarah and I tried to talk it out some more but we kept running in circles around each other and I had to curb my natural inclination to run her down until we got a resolution. Truthfully, I was pretty damn tired as well and I just wanted to turn off my brain. Believe it or not, we just ended up sitting on the couch and watching a movie together in silence until it was time to go to sleep. We left it there with a "We'll talk about it more tomorrow" and retreated to our separate rooms. On Monday, I woke up to a large hand written letter slid under the door from Sarah. I took a brief look at the first few pages and decided I would deal with it later and went to work. When I left, Sarah was still in bed. She must have been up late writing that letter. At the office, I rescheduled some meetings and started calling venues and vendors that were on my list (the other ones were being handled by Sarah or her parents). It was a mixed bag of results - The catering people were adamant that I pay most of their fees under the pretense that they had "ordered most of the food" - I shot back at them over this, like were they expecting me to eat a week old steak? But my appeal fell on deaf ears. I tried talking to the woman who ran the catering business and explaining what happened, but that seemed to only firm up her resolve to get as much money as possible out of me. Inversely, the DJ that I had hired for the entertainment was incredibly kind and gave us back almost all of the money (it wasn't much however). Things went on like this and during the day between making calls and doing work, I read Sarah's letter. Now, this is 20 pages of written word so I'm just going to summarize. The gist of it was that ever since childhood Sarah has been bullied by Evelyn and in response, Sarah's way of dealing with this was to essentially go along with whatever Evelyn wants or wants to hear. She went on to say that it had become sort of a general way of operating in her life - that she was just afraid to rock the boat, to cause a problem or sometimes even to voice an opinion. I reflected on this because truthfully, when I look back at our relationship with a more critical eye, I kind of think that Sarah was a bit too perfect of a girlfriend. What I mean by that is, she never disagreed with me, never picked her plans over mine, or even really advocated too strongly against anything I wanted to do, she went out of her way to make herself appear useful and all around acted more or less like a "yes woman" in our relationship. I mean, we had never even so much as had a minor disagreement in 6 years, let alone a full blown argument until now. It sounds great from a relationship standpoint, until of course, it's not. I couldn't shake this feeling that Sarah has this deep seated insecurity and need to make people happy. You know what they call, "People Pleasing" behavior. When I start looking at it this way a lot of things make sense to me and I start to realize that despite being with Sarah for 6 years, I don't actually know her that well. It's like she's put up this image around her which is really just a mirror - a reflection of whatever she thinks people want to see and in the case of our relationship, she's more or less been acting my role of the "perfect girlfriend" while never really letting me inside to see who she is as a person. Hell, I can't even say that what I saw in those text messages is the "real Sarah" because it's almost certainly just another reflection - this time of Evelyn and all her warts and faults. This may sound weird, but its like we are in this unequal relationship. Whereas maybe she loves me for who I am and how I wear my thoughts on my face and my heart on my sleeve, but maybe I only love her for the mirror she is holding up to my face. I don't know, if this sounds too metaphysical for you then I'm right there as well. It's like this wisp of an idea that I'm still trying to catch by my fingertips. All I know is that in the last few days I've probably learned more about Sarah than I had in the last 6 years and the letter she wrote me was the first real view into her childhood that I had glimpsed. That night we talked more about this specifically, about her childhood, about her behavior. The conclusion that we came to is that she needs help. She's a grown woman who is sadly stuck acting like a child too scared to displease anyone, lest she face her sisters wrath, or her parents disapproval, or the loss of love from the ones she loves. This is no way to have a relationship and I can say, that I feel much more confident and assured that my decision to call off the wedding was the correct one. In fact, it could not be any more correct. That night, after our talk, I went to bed with much less angst than I had in a few days. So, this basically brings me up to our last update and once again, it's a freaking novel. I won't wait 2-3 days to do another one otherwise I will keep falling forever. For people who have been wondering, the entire situation with my brother is more or less resolved and I'll get to that tomorrow, but the situation with Sarah and I is still up in the air a bit, but there is a semblance of a plan going forward. I promise I'll get to it as soon as I can, but as you can imagine there is a lot to write and I can only do what I can do. Thanks submitted by /u/OneTop3934 to u/OneTop3934 [link] [comments]

Throwaway just in case. TLDR; new landlord purchased the home my boyfriend and I rented and instructed us to remove all the modifications we had made to the yard which included a pond/fountain, landscaping, etc. So we converted it to the dirt only yard it had been when we moved in. He took us to court for damaging the property and the judge ruled in our favor. I’m 27M and live with my boyfriend, 28M. The house in question was our first place together that we’d been in for 5 years. It was the only place we could afford, and wasn’t the most aesthetic when we moved in. It’s shaped like a shipping container and not much bigger than one, plus it’s surrounded on 3 sides by 2+ story homes and on the remaining side there is a parking lot for all of said homes which opens onto a major road. In the “backyard” there was a tiny shed which fits a staked washer/dryer and was otherwise a thin strip of dirt the length of the home boxed in by the shed and the privacy fences of the other homes. Our yard itself was not fenced in, we had to use the front door and walk around the home then through the parking lot to access the laundry shed/yard (no backdoor). The original landlord was very receptive to us making improvements to the house. We painted, refinished the cabinets, tiled the bathroom, etc. In the backyard I built raised garden beds, installed a small pond and bird fountain, as well as other landscaping so that it became a bit of an unexpected oasis. We had an outdoor table and chairs so we could sit out there in the morning and share a cup of tea. As you may have put together, the original landlord sold the home and our lease transferred to the new owner. We had plans already in the works to purchase our first home together, so we only intended to stay to the end of the lease anyway and figured it shouldn’t affect us too much. Almost immediately the new landlord began to harass us nearly daily, often about issues entirely out of our control such as “cars being parked in the lot sideways”… cars which were first of all our neighbors cars and were merely slightly crooked, certainly not sideways. Once he showed up at the front door at 8:30pm on a Friday, we had two friends over to play board games and have dinner, and he asked, “are you going to wind up the party anytime soon, boys? Because people are going to get the wrong idea, you know.” We did our best to appease the landlord for the remaining months, but it became extremely grating and honestly made me feel like I was being watched constantly. The final straw was when a technician came to fix the washing machine in the shed and the landlord noticed the table and chairs in the backyard. We received an email that evening telling us, yes in all caps, to “REMOVE ALL MODIFICATIONS OF THE YARD. NO PATIO FURNITURE IS PERMITTED.” Mind you, this isn’t even visible from the road, but whatever. So I responded, just to be sure, “Apologies for the mistake. To confirm, you would like us to remove all modifications we have personally made to the yard since our move in date of xx/xx/xxxx?” The answer? “YES. REMOVE IMMEDIATELY AT THE SOONEST CONVENIENCE.” You got it, chief! We were just about in our final month of the lease and preparing to move to our new home. I had planned to leave the raised beds, plants, and an empty pond behind, obviously, but I decided I was going to revert the place to a dirt strip out of spite. So that’s what I did. I collected my bird fountain/pump, my fish, the flower bulbs and other plants, I even took the dirt I purchased for the raised beds to our new home. We filled in the pond and made sure to remove all the grass so it was one sad strip of dirt again. The landlord was extremely angry to find the yard in that state, he was threatening to sue us for destruction of property because we “ruined his pond.” He tried to keep our security deposit and he did take us to small claims court over “the damage”. However, we were diligent when we had moved in and had photos of the original yard, plus the email instructing us to “REMOVE ALL MODIFICATIONS OF THE YARD.” He tried to say we had done other damage to the home, all of which was regular wear and tear after 5 years of occupancy which any landlord should expect and is responsible over basic maintenance for such as repainting. Not to mention we could prove we left the place nicer than it was originally, with approval from the original landlord at the time we did the projects. I’m sure the judge saw though him immediately, he was quite rude and continued to interrupt her to which she reprimanded him several times. That is to say, we got our security deposit back in full even having “trashed” the yard. submitted by /u/AccurateInstance96 to r/MaliciousCompliance [link] [comments]

I AM NOT THE ORIGINAL PERSON WHO POSTED THIS. Original post by u/hiden_underarock34 in r/ParanormalEncounters trigger warnings: scary mood spoilers: unconcluded!!! [Note: I've cleaned up some spelling and grammar]   I am worried about my Daughter safety - submitted on 05 Mar 2021 https://imgur.com/gallery/3sZyJeX Hello I couldn’t sleep so I thought now would be a good time to post this. So I have a 8 year older daughter I will be calling her “Liana” for the sake of my child's privacy. I am single father and it hasn’t always been easy but we have managed. Before the start of Corona we had moved into a new house in Northern Germany, which is close to my parents. Soon after we settled in, Liana started to tell me about her new ‘friend’, quickly telling me only she could see him. I brushed it off as she has always been creative. And since we were under lock down, I thought it was normal. Especially since one of my friend's son had also had a imaginary friend. Though out the next few months she would tell me about him. How he would come to play with her once I put her to Bed. And he knew magic. And how his favorite color was blue. I started to get a little worried as she seemed to know a lot about this friend. At first I just thought it was because she was missing her real friends and my parents. So I started to spend even more time with her. Even doing my work Hours beforehand so I could spend the rest of the day with her. But she still kept talking about this friend. But everything changed two nights back. I had woken up randomly around 3 am. I could just feel something wasn’t right. So I got up and went to go check on Liana She was sleeping in her bed though her blanket were a little different then how I had left her. I figure she had just moved. But as I was leaving just in the corner of my eye I saw a figure in the window that looks out into the Woods outside of our home. I looked at it for a good two minutes before it simply disappeared. I really couldn’t figure out what it was. Some part of my was thinking it was my eyes playing tricks on me. But that day I asked her to Draw me a picture of him. And after 20 or so minutes she gave me this. I don’t even know what to make of it to be real with you. I sent it to my mom and the single Dad group I am in and they all said it was Scary as hell. I really don’t know what to do at this point. I am becoming worried for my child. I am just hoping this really just is in her mind but I do not know anymore. Any suggestions or tips would be helpful. As I am also worried I am over reacting   Response to OOP In some old German books, like from Johann Weir, written in medieval German, a wittig is a child thieving ghost/demon who steals them away from their family. Like a fey or like baba yaga, it's evil, must be invited in, and they do know magic. Look at the picture, blond hair, yellow eyes, long nails, tall, and and very evil. I'm writing encyclopedias on demonology and supernatural that's why I know. I'll look up the books it's in and try to take pictures. I have over 4k research books on the subject so may take a while. Keep her near you always. OOP Response I don’t think there's a way to describe my emotions at this moment, I haven’t heard of this even when I looked up the name to try and get idea of what it meant. I feel like I am going to pass out. My baby told me she invited him into the house. Please please I am begging you to send my anything you have. I’ll take anything.   Another OOP Comment If I’m being honest. That has been keeping me up most of the night The thought of anyone really being around my child when I’m not there scares me. I am a very rational person but after reading some of the comments I’m definitely going to look into more paranormal aspects of this. Especially how to make a very good point in this matter. There is still some part of me holding out on the overactive imagination. Because that something I know I can handle even if that’s just finding safe ways to get out of the house more. But I’m worried if it’s not what I’m even going to do. I don’t have the finances to move or even stay in a hotel for a long amount of time. Should be up in an hour or so. And I do intend to have a conversation with her and try to piece some things together. I have seriously thought about getting a nanny cam even before this as she is a very active girl and has had a few incidence where she needed some help after climbing onto something.     I am worried about my Daughter safety. - submitted on 05 Mar 2021 in /r/Mediums So someone told me it might be a good idea to do this. My 8 year old Daughter has a imaginary friend. Who is in the pictures above. He only comes to play with her at night once I had put her to bed. And he comes into her room according to her. I had a very serious conversation with her today as I am very worried as I fully Believe I saw something outside of her window two nights ago. I just want some help for my Daughter. She said his name is Wittig. I did a little digging and is an extremely old German name. Which makes a little sense as we are from Northern Germany. And we currently live here as well. But she’s never been exposed to that name before. And I know no one in my family named that. All this started after we moved into our current home. If anyone could help me I would deeply appreciate it. I have been told my child might be sensitive herself but I don’t know much on these things.   Response Child therapist here. This has red flags all over it. Get a bunch of flour and pour all over the ground by her window. See if you can catch foot prints. Imaginary friends are more common for younger kids, by 8 she should be moving on to more age appropriate peer play. I’m a believer in the afterworld. But we need to rule out physical causes too. I would highly recommend finding a trauma therapist specializing in play therapy to do an assessment. Meet w the therapist alone first to explain what is going on. I’ve worked on cases like this before and never found a physical cause, determined and agreed it to be a spiritual form, worked w kiddo on expressing feelings about the figures/setting boundaries, how to cope if there is fear etc. but not every therapist has an open mind.   OOP Comment re A Game Daughter Plays With The "Friend" From what I can understand, it varies from playing with her toys to going outside and playing a game called hidden. When I asked her what that was she said it was a Secret game. And that I can’t play it or it wouldn’t be a secret anymore.   Another Response I would rule out the physical, then do quite a few things. Use the flour inside all the windows, or use baking powder. It can double as air freshener. Once you rule out a living person, in fact whether or not you rule out a living person. Secure that window. Spray the panes with salt water, the door sills and the window sills (all of them), without spraying the inside door entrances. Do not tell your daughter what you are doing or why. There is no point in frightening her or making her feel bad. Verbally refuse him permission to enter your home. Announce that no energy living or deceased is allowed in your home without you express knowledge and permission. Tell him the "Hidden" game is not allowed, Ask for the help of Archangels to remove him. they seldom act without being asked. If Michael is asked, and Wittig is not a positive energy, consign him to Michael to do what Source wishes to do with him. Forbid him to play the "Hidden" game, aloud and firmly. If he needs help Michael will help if he is asked. If you need someone to intervene and the local medium is not available, I will help if sent a private message or a chat request.All offers of help in this sub must be offered free. so that is assured. It is a good sign that she is not frightened. But as a "mama bear" who is a medium, I , like you, investigate and protect my children in any way needed. I did not tell them what I was doing. There was no point in informing them, when they were small. Follow the directions for smudging your home and follow those exact same steps with salt. What I saw was a blonde man, perhaps Middle Ages, straight hair that is dirty, wearing tattered clothes and a leather apron around his waist 30 to 35. leather shoes that are tied to his calves. He seems to have dried blood around his abdominal area. he had other wounds. But, your daughter does not see that. I beleive he died defending his home. He seems to be a human spirit. He was outside and attacked. He raised pigs. He farmed. He was outside the window, because you do not allow him inside the home. Custom would dictate he can only cross your threshold as an invited guest. He would need to enter through the front door, so the fact he uses a window, bothers me. He appears disheveled in the sense he appears to be a man whose hands and clothing are soiled from working outdoors. He can only enter with permission. Deny him permission. It is a good idea to involve a medium there locally.It is even better not to warn Wittig or your daughter. IF he has her best interests at heart, a medium will be able to sort that out. The Hidden game concerns me. He knows better. forbid him to play it. It may have been a way he taught his children to hide from raiders. However, your daughter should not be hiding from you. Sometimes, souls refuse to cross over and they are trapped in loneliness. Their desire to feel something, overcomes their judgement that it is inappropriate to approach a young child. I saw souls at your daughter's age. I was seldom frightened. However I had ancestors guarding my family. Usually these souls want help, or, a sense they still exist. Children have bright and beautiful souls. They are much more acccepting than adults. This soul needs help, but not from a child. If he can be crossed over, it wou;ld be the best for all concerned. If he did not appear to be untidy, I would be more inclined to believe he was a spirit guide. I do not see that being the case. I wish you and your daughter the best in life. I am so glad that you listen to her and that she tells you what she experiences. You may have a psychic child on your hands. Many Blessings, sir . A parent's love is the strongest love that exists.     I’m worried for my daughter safety update - submitted on 09 Mar 2021 So after a bit of a delay the update. I think it should state the reason for the disappearance. Through a comment given to me by [a response?] I was informed that it is a demon ghost whatever you want to call it. That is known to steal children. Without saying, they sent me into a state of panic as I would like to think any other parent would feel. I didn’t leave her side until she left today. She was supposed to leave on Monday for my parents house but something came up and we had to wait until today. Without saying I collapse shortly after she left. I hadn’t sleep more than 40 minutes every night. Before I go into our conversation. I’m getting the house completely cleansed by a Catholic priest. He’s coming over tomorrow and then plan to have the place cleared out with sage. And I’m doing basically everything I’ve been told to do. Even planning to get a rose quartz gem to place outside of her window. She is very much aware that something is wrong at this point. As I had her sleep in my room for the last few days and could tell I got very paranoid at night. I told her that there have been a few burglaries in our Area and was just worried. I also plan to be getting a nanny cam for her room just as extra security. Just in case it doesn’t leave after all of this. -the original post I had meant to share- This morning after she woke up and ate breakfast I decided to sit her down and ask her about her friend. Mostly asking simple questions the the main ones were. What was his name Has he ever asked you to do Bad things like hurt herself or me And if she was scared of him. She told me he said to call him Wittig. Which is a name I’ve genuinely never heard of my life. and that he never told her to do anything bad or hurt herself or me. -edit- like I said I was informed that this is a demonic entity that steals children. And she’s only ever been scared of him once. Of course I asked why and she proceeded to tell me the story of when he started to come over to ‘play’ She said it’s a few hours after I put her to bed. And she was having a hard time falling asleep but she noticed something outside. And had gotten up to investigate. Apparently he slowly started to move to the window until he was right in front of it. And just stared at her. Like he was, in her words, very sad and upset. So of course being the sweetheart child, she wrote a small note and pressed it to the window asking if he was OK. And apparently he shook his head no. She somehow manage to open the window a little bit and then asked why. She was told it was because he was very scared of the dark and had on one to play with. So of course she offered to play with him. He told her he would like that but before he could she had to invite him inside. Which she did This is when I start getting scared. She said after she did, he smiled and pushed the window open and Crawled In on all fours which made her very scared and she started to cry. But apparently he comforted her. And then did a magic trick. I have course asked her what the trick was and she said he made all the lights turn on in her room. To show her he wasn’t scary. I start to ask her more and what other magic tricks he had done. And they ranged from making flowers appear to taking both of the outside. Apparently he also likes to show her the stars and moons. Which is why she added them in her drawing. I’m starting to believe the letter that this isn’t just an imaginary friend. The amount of detail she went into constantly referring to him being real. And just many other things. I am just glad she is out of the house until Thursday. I think it is very pissed off with me though. Starting a night ago, I woke up with huge scratches on my arms. And horrific headaches which I’ve never had before. As well having very strange issues while trying to translate this. Having a bunch of random ones scattered throughout my writing. At this point the pain doesn’t really bother me it’s more of the fear of it trying to get to my daughter again. I don’t know if I should tell her the creatures origins or if I should wait until she is much older to explain this to her. I will be trying to keep everyone updated but tomorrow is going to be an extremely busy day. As I also plan to go to a crystal shop and just ask what crystals would be best to protect her.   [There have been no updates since] Reminder - I am not the original poster. submitted by /u/joshually to r/BestofRedditorUpdates [link] [comments]

Ok, so I’m the coworker that encouraged him to post this, unfortunately your account has to be 7days old to post here, so I gifted him an alt i made for a joke about a month ago. This story is about 12 years old. I told it to one of my coworkers yesterday and he said i should share it to Reddit, today he again nudged me so here we are having drinks before the 4 day weekend and my writing is complete. So first time here and hi y’all. Sorry if there are typos! I included a TLDR at the end. In college, I met the woman who I thought was my one. We dated for about 2 years and had a big ass wedding after a 10 month engagement, her family was pretty well to do in a small southern town. We were both continuing our educations and I was also working to support us. I was pursuing a masters in engineering while she was finishing her doctorate in anthropology. Over the summer an opportunity came up for her to make some extra money going as an aid on a religious studies trip to Jamaica. I didn’t hesitate when she asked me about it, I mean, she was going to get to visit Jamaica and get paid for it, I saw no downside other than missing her being at home for 6 weeks. Little did I know at the time, but she had been fucking the professor(he had hung out with us, smoked my weed and drank my fucking beer I considered him a friend) who arranged the trip for a couple months and it was a get away for them to bang all over the island. I, clueless and happy went about the weeks while she was gone taking extra shifts so I could match what she made in our account and surprise her. What a dipshit, right? One of the students from the trip actually seeked me out to clue me in. I didn’t believe him until I started looking for evidence on my own. I broke down and checked her texts while she was sleeping and nothing was there. There were a few VMs so I decided to listen and there it was, a message from that giant asshole saying how exciting it was that I almost caught them. I opened up her laptop and hit the emails after that, it was piles and piles of shit, making fun of me for not knowing, fucking in our bed and laughing about it. There was so much and I was so heartbroken. Still too hurt to take any action, I was lost. I had no idea what to do, so I sat on it for a couple weeks and acted as normally as I could, I noticed everything now, I felt SO stupid for not seeing it before. So many signs. One stuck out in particular. I noticed that our stash of homemade weed lube (if you’ve never tried it, I highly recommend giving it a go) was going down even though we weren’t having sex. It was obvious they were also using the fruits of my labor to get off more effectively. This really pissed me off. Like unreasonably so, Hulk fucking mad. It finally all hit me. I was a goddamn joke to these assholes and they were using the lube I made and fucking in my bed. I didn’t hurt anymore, I just wanted to make them hurt. So, while she was “studying at the library” I made a new batch of lube. I put enough weed in it for it to smell like normal, but I also added some poison ivy from our backyard to the mixture, and after refilling the spray bottle we used for application, I waited. A few days go by and I’m working extra so i can be out of the house more, and bam, bait taken. That night after she goes to sleep my plan goes into action. I sneak her phone away and delete my contact, while replacing his phone number in his contact as mine. I go to bed but can’t sleep because it feels like I’m 5 and tomorrow is Christmas. Dawn arrives and she’s in the shower. I get a text. im super itchy are you ok? Now Lord, now is my time. look, I thought it had cleared up but I guess i had a flare up. I’m sorry, but I’ve got herpes, and I guess you do now too I heard this bitch squeak in the shower. I’m covering my mouth damn near losing it. I went on to tell her that it was time to end things now, a new semester was about to start and I kind of have a little crush on another T/A. I wanted her mad, this is a woman that never got told no growing up, and never had to deal with rejection. Let alone from a balding dude in his 50s with herpes. When she got out of the shower it was obvious she had been crying but i could see the anger in her eyes. I could see how uncomfortable she was squirming at the table drinking coffee and mulling the situation over. Another little nudge is what she needed. The reply she got to her pages and pages of anger and sadness was: “thanks for the good times, but can you keep this a secret between us, I don’t want to ruin my chances with anyone else” she’s flush with anger now, just seething, she gathered her keys and headed out the door without even saying goodbye... I knew where she was going. I booted up her laptop and set it to reformat, deleting her dissertation and any notes pertaining to it before following her to campus, I parked a few lots over and rush over to his office where i find her screaming at him for giving her herpes. There’s lots of people there. Professors, aids, students, other faculty. I’m dying. He is beyond embarrassed and confused as fuck, she is ugly crying in front of her peers, I’m in heaven. I didn’t even care that people were going to think I had herpes too. The fallout was apocalyptic in their department. He lost his job due to code of conduct at the university, we got divorced the following year (state law was we had to be separated for one full year before being granted a divorce) I got to keep most of the assets (primarily savings, and not a ton, but I worked for it). She never finished her doctorate and went on to be a perpetually pregnant housewife that sells herbalife on Facebook and he teaches high school now. It took a few years for it all to unfold, but watching it was glorious. TL;DR: wife cheated, so I made her think she had herpes and engineered a social situation for her to out her affair publicly herself. Edit: a few of you are asking for a recipe for the goodies so here you go: Follow the directions for use or it’s kind of a waste, and this is totally geared towards the ladies. We’re talking big fucking Os. Use polyurethane condoms! It breaks down latex. Weed lube: 1/4 ounce flower or 1 gram CO2 extracted live resin (preferred) 4 oz MCT coconut oil 2 16 oz mason jars 3 coffee filters (only if flower is used) 2 drops tea tree oil - it really makes a difference 30 leaves poison ivy* Small spray bottles- think perfume. Put oils and wax or flower in mason jar A and heat in oven for 80 minutes at 240 degrees, turn oven off and allow it to cool for about an hour. Strain through coffee filters if you used flower into the second mason jar and then fill the spray bottles. Here’s the instructions and description my current amazing wife wrote for a friend wanting to try it: At first you can feel the warmth building up. Everything feels more intense to the touch. The waiting between application and play time is a wonderful mystery. As time progresses the butterflies in the pit of your stomach become more active, while feeling self awareness as the sensations and sensitivity increase. Walking become part of foreplay, the action causes more friction and heat to build up. As your spouse begins touching at your neck and shoulders the warmth rises up your body sending chills down your spine. Each touch becomes more euphoric than the last until foreplay is done...from there enjoy complete euphoria in your partners embrace. Application: 8-10 total sprays. Use 2-3 on your fingers at a time. Self application- spray on fingers and massage around the clitoris and labia down toward your opening working the oil inward towards your g-spot. To help with cramps- spray on tampon, insert, go. Without tampon. Get .5 ml in a syringe, insert, spray and stay with hips lifted for 1-2 minutes. With spouse- Have your spouse apply the spray to their fingers, gently spreading it over the clitoris, labia, pushing some into your cookie. Think of it like painting, the better the coverage, the better it will feel. Be sure to apply to your G-spot, it’s about 2 inches in on the front wall of your vagina, for an added plus, apply to the O-spot, which is directly across from the G-spot on the back wall of the vagina. Application shouldn’t take more than 3-5 minutes, then don’t even touch it for at LEAST 20 minutes. Spend this time exploring other areas of your lovely treasure. Don’t use if overly intoxicated, you’ll simply waste it. *poison ivy optional, not recommended for self use submitted by /u/dos-stinko-uno-pinko to r/NuclearRevenge [link] [comments]

I posted this in r/casualuk yesterday and it went down pretty well, and a couple of posters convinced me to post it here. Apologies if this is overkill and you've already read it! And honestly, I don't know if it qualifies as a TIFU, so I am sure the mods will decide. Be gentle, mods... Anyway, a very English break-in story is pasted below... I may have over-egged the detail, so this story is quite long. The detail is pretty accurate, cos I made notes immediately after the event, and I've tried really hard to be honest and not embellish too much! On the first day of moving into my new house back in April of 2015, my neighbour came to introduce himself - and it wasn't long before I deduced that he was in the drug-dealing business. I initially thought that wasn't so bad, I like a smoke from time to time and having him next door could be useful. Even if I went back in time right now to warn myself, there's no way I could convey how wrong I was... Now 2015 was otherwise known as the worst year of my life. It certainly wasn’t what Back To The Future had let me to expect. After losing my dad to cancer, my sister having a miscarriage and my BBQ exploding on my birthday gathering, I was beginning to think my luck would have to turn soon. It was August, the summer was ending and nothing bad had happened for two whole months… I’d been up late watching It Follows, and not being much of a horror fan, I was suitably creeped out. And slightly high. My girlfriend had come home late from a work function and had gone straight to bed, and at about 12.30am I went up there too. It’s probably worth explaining that this house has three floors. The ground floor has an entrance, spare room and stairs, the first floor is the kitchen and living room, and the top floor is the bedroom and bathroom. It’s one of three houses in a little mews in a leafy Sussex village. I went to bed and was soon drifting off. About 15 minutes later I heard some banging. I didn’t pay it much mind, assuming that watching a horror movie before bed had made me oversensitive. So I started to go back to sleep. The next memory I have is of shouting. Lots of shouting. The bedroom door burst open, and a group of large figures stormed in, brandishing crowbars. I remember screaming in that way you try to in a dream, when nothing comes out. I also recall spinning around slightly so as to block my girlfriend, an incredibly sweet and innocent creature who had barely witnessed a crime in her life. I thrust out my legs, kicking one of them in the crown jewels firmly. This led the ring leader to crack me on the legs with a crowbar, telling me in no uncertain terms to not do that again. So now there are at least four men lined up alongside my side of the bed. Maybe five. Hard to tell, I didn't get to put my glasses on. My girlfriend is screaming, they’re all shouting, and I’m incredibly confused. The ringleader then demands that I give him the bag of money. “What money!?” I asked. “Give us the fucking bag of money, we know you’ve got the bag of money!” the ringleader repeats. Several times. “I don’t have a bag of money,” I explained. It’s hard to remember the order of events, but I do know one thing for sure - Tom Cruise popped into my head. The previous night I was watching Mission: Impossible 3. I do like that film, and I had it on in the background while I did the washing up. I remember pondering the scene where Ethan Hunt’s wife has a gun to her head. “I want to give you what you want, but you’ve got to do what’s right!” exclaimed Hunt. Hmmm. I wonder if the screenwriter had researched this dialogue. Is this what you are supposed to say in a hostage crisis? Well, it apparently sewed a seed, because I found myself repeating those words. “I don’t have a bag of money. I want to get you what you want, but you have to do what’s right and leave this poor girl alone,” are the words that came, strangely confidently, out of my mouth. “Yeah? Well we know you sold drugs to my daughter!” said the one I considered to be the sidekick. “Nah nah nah, it was my sister,” said the ringleader in correction. This exchange told me two things - one, they did not have a particularly good grasp of what their plan was, and two, they were after my neighbour. For my neighbour is a drug-dealing maniac. A weird guy from Essex. He’s in his mid-30s, about 5’8” with light blonde hair and eyebrows to match. He’s skinny and zany, usually hopping from one foot to the other as he tries to keep his excessive energy in check. He smokes weed from 7am, and boxes on his outdoor punchbag whenever the weed isn’t enough to keep his energy in check. Sometimes he can be seen in the communal car park making things. Like the time he made a wooden triangle. Or he juggles balls with his dogs, or he shadow boxes. You know, the usual things you expect to see your neighbour doing at literally any hour of the day or night. Still, realising that the intruders were in the wrong house, I wasn’t entirely keen on sending them next door. As much as I disliked my neighbour, I didn’t think he deserved a group of masked men storming in. So I continued to try and talk these people out of the house. “I’m not a drug dealer, so I’ve no idea what you’re talking about. There’s a couple of Macbooks downstairs, sixty quid in my wallet, an iMac… whatever you want, just take it and go mate.” Hearing this offer, the ringleader realised I was being compliant. And if I was willing to give up a few grands worth of computers, why wouldn’t I just give him the bag of money he was seeking? Slowly, the cogs turned. “Is this number 27?” he demanded to know. “The whole area is.” “Yeah but is this number two, twenty seven Acacia Avenue?” “No, it’s number one.” “WE’VE GOT THE WRONG HOUSE!” The realisation was startling. They all shouted. One guy had been searching every room, cupboard and drawer. He had given up already. One or two of the others went down stairs to get him, leaving me and my GF with the ringleader and his sidekick, a guy I suspected was far darker in soul than the guy doing all the talking. “Right, you can’t call the cops or we’ll come back. We know where you live!” The sidekick said. Emboldened by the realisation that these guys were morons, I laughed. “You seriously think I won’t call the cops? Best I can do is give you a thirty second head start.” He didn’t like that, so he took my phone. Good, I thought. I’ll track that fucker. Sadly, I later discovered, he threw it behind my sofa on his way out of the house. The ringleader then apologised. He said they were looking for someone else, and there had been a mix up. I said something along the lines of “well I am glad we sorted that out.” At which point he shook my hand, told me he hoped my GF would be ok, and forced the sidekick to leave with him. I picked up the bed and jammed it against the door, and enveloped my traumatised girlfriend in a big hug and told her it was over. Which it almost was. Little did we know, the morons had decided to try again, this time knocking my neighbour's door in and storming his house. But he was in the kitchen, so they went flying past him, up to the bedroom where they found his girlfriend. My neighbour, being the kind of guy he is, then jumped out of the window, abandoned his GF, ran to my front door and stormed into my home. “THE-GO-KID! THE-GO-KID! THERE ARE PEOPLE IN MY HOUSE!” He screamed. “No shit,” I responded. “Why do you think my fucking door is wide open?” I went out to meet him while talking to the police on my GF’s phone. He grabbed a knife from my kitchen, the phone from my hand, and went after them. I decided I was done, went back to enjoy the barricade of the bedroom. It took the police a while to turn up, because the genius neighbour of mine told them they had guns, so we had to wait for armed response. Eventually, my GF and I cautiously walked down to the living room. The police eventually arrived, but they knew it was too late. So they stood outside our houses having a chat and a bit of a laugh. It’s likely to be the only time I tell four men with machine guns to shut the fuck up. The rest of the night was a mess of police as they took statements, searched for evidence and quizzed my neighbour about, yes, the bag of money. They were convinced they could bust him for something, as they had wanted to for some time. Turns out he had broken his foot when he leapt from the window, and so he was carted off in an ambulance. As the stretcher went past me in the car park, he tried to talk to me. “Go Kid! I just want to say one thing mate! I just want to say one thing!” He screamed. “Neighbour, you’re not physically capable of saying just one thing.” The police, who knew him all too well, erupted in laughter. This humiliation would haunt him for some time. Eventually I heard that my neighbour had claimed it was all because of an instagram picture he had posted on Facebook, and he thought he knew the ringleader. A scumbag he’d recently connected with on FB. He gave the police two weeks to charge the guy. To the credit of the police, they arrested him but didn’t have the evidence to charge him. About a month later, my neighbour beckoned me into his garage where he remonstrated with me for blaming him for the ordeal. “They terrorised us too!” he said. He then told me he had taken matters into his own hands, dealing with the ringleader himself, putting him in some sort of box and, I presume, torturing him. He tried to show me some sort of video evidence but I refused to look at it. "We have to look after our women!" he said. He then said that he was aware I had reacted like a pussy when the guys got into my room. A bit bemused by this, I asked him if it was more gutless to scream or to jump out a window and leave my partner behind. This enraged him, and we haven't spoken a single word to each other since. The only stuff that was stolen was money from our wallets and my Leatherman (it had 'That's not a knife' engraved in it). Nobody was ever charged with the break-in and eventually life went back to normal, albeit with a very expensive new front door. I moved house this year, so I can only hope I never see my neighbour's face again. I know some people find this story entirely unbelievable, but it would appear I’ve got back-up on that front as one of the responding officers is on Reddit and confirmed the story's validity on my original post! TL:DR - Masked men broke in, stormed my bedroom, realised they got the wrong house, said sorry and broke into next door instead. Also, my neighbour is a knob. Edit: I've been encouraged to post this bit of info as well - The police called it a ‘scum on scum’ attack, and when those inadvertently mess with innocent bystanders, the scumbags are usually apologetic. They even said “don’t be surprised if you get an anonymous bunch of flowers”. We didn't, but judging by some of the messages I have received, it really is something that happens. submitted by /u/The-Go-Kid to r/tifu [link] [comments]