The tenant promised to pick up the rest of his stuff Friday, but never showed. By Saturday afternoon I'd had it. Waiting to use that room was no longer an option (and he'd not done his part by keeping his promise ... and had been warned that I'd move his stuff if he didn't get it) so we "went in." It was worse than expected, and while the room itself grossed me out, the closet was a whole other story. We couldn't bring ourselves to touch it, so left it for him but cleaned the rest. Swept, mopped, pitched garbage, retrieved and washed towels/sheets/bowls/mugs/dishes-used-as-ashtrays, and so on. Alas he didn't show again, so a text message resulted in the "coming Monday story." Once we'd scrubbed/cleaned/pitched garbage from the rest of the room, the closet couldn't wait either. So with noses pinched we made many trips to the bathroom to empty bottles and cans (I'll leave it at that). And scrubbed our hands. And hollered at the kids to stay out. And burned sage and sprayed essential oils and enzyme cleaners. And the room is now reclaimed, with the exception of a TV, box of papers, bag of clothes/bedding, 2 beers, and a bottle of detergent.
Lesson learned? Get a proper signed contract, check references, and don't jump to conclusions when it comes to roommates! The sad thing is I like him, and wish we'd gotten to know him better. I'd probably have a great time talking to him at a party and never think twice. I just can't live in the same house.
Oh, the picture? One thing found under the chair, which I finally recognized as the quiche I'd made, oh, about 2 months ago, and assumed Michael had eaten. I was wrong! At least it's been cool enough that the mold growth wasn't too insane.