Mitch and his then 5yo son came to me in January of 2023 as friends of friends. I felt for the little boy, against some red flags I had (Mitch fudged providing his job history (he said he had been in WA at the mines; according to a former Prison Officer this is a typical lie told by those who had spent some time in the prison system), no evidence of regular pay, no recommendations from previous landlords, etc) but I took them both in. No kid deserves to sleep in a car.
At first, things went well, and a friendship between Mitch and I started to slowly develop. My partner and I even took Mitch, his son, and his mum to a Carl’s Jr for his son’s 6th birthday.
But one thing I couldn’t get over was Mitch’s untidyness. It took very little time before the upstairs area where Mitch and his son were living resembled a rubbish tip, with clothes strewn all over the floor in every room, the bath full of clothes yet to be washed, and the toilet filthy and unflushed. You had to tiptoe your way across the floor, because it was covered in clothes, wood offcuts, used food bowls, etc. The landing, clearly visible from the front door, was always full of unwashed clothing, even despite me repeatedly asking Mitch to clean it up as it was unsightly.
On top of that, his 2yo dog Luna (short for ‘Lunatic’) was, I was annoyed to find, not desexed and so when on heat she bled profusely over the carpets upstairs, which were less than four months old and had been installed by the previous owner of the house as part of the sale to me. Thinking that perhaps Mitch was short of funds, I offered to go halves in having Luna desexed. He said, ‘Yep, I’ll sort that out’ but nothing ever came of it, despite me reminding him a number of times. There is still lots of blood all over the carpets upstairs and I am going to have to hire a professional carpet steam cleaning tradesperson to try and get the blood out. At my expense. Even though it’s not my dog. Not happy, Jan.
Of further concern was the worry that if Luna wasn’t desexed at two years of age, had she even had annual vaccinations? What was my senior Labrador Caz potentially exposed to?
The kitchen was a similarly disgusting story, with plates, cutlery, cooking utensils and pots and pans filthy and everywhere. Food crumbs were all over the counter top and the son had taken to leaving his half-drunk glasses of water on top of the soundbar under the tv; I repeatedly asked Mitch to ask his son not to do that as it could be very expensive if the glass and water toppled, but either Mitch didn’t pass on the message or the young son didn’t listen.
I repeatedly asked Mitch, by text and in person, to clean up his mess in the kitchen, but nothing ever got fixed, and I ended up packing and unpacking the dishwasher with his mess several times a week. That’s because his detritus was starting to smell; I have Long Covid, which includes the loss of the ability to smell, so if I can smell the mess, you can begin to appreciate how others might find it. Plus, his cooking stuff, plates, cutlery, etc., started to attract flies and tiny flying insects. It was either insects, including rodents and cockroaches, starting to set up home in my home, or I do what he should be doing but steadfastly refused to. Killing a cockroach on my kitchen floor sealed it for me. Mitch didn’t seem to understand why I was so upset.
Oh, and he had no problems in helping himself to my food and my Caz’s dog food. The latter I became aware of the other morning. You see, I always keep my dog kibble outside on the left of my side door. That morning I found the bag on the right of the door, lying on the ground, empty. I agree it is only my word against Mitch’s, but it is yet more proof in my mind that Mitch has been stealing from me.
The laundry was, too, a stumbling block. As the owner of both the house and the washing machine, I would have thought it reasonable to have access to to my machine to wash my own clothes. But no—several loads of washing were piled up on the floor and in the sink, and I couldn’t get access to the machine. Again, I both texted and spoke with Mitch, had plenty of ‘yep, I’ll get on to it’, followed by absolutely nothing being done.
At one stage I had a gardener come to my place and quoted for some work I wanted done. Mitch hovered around while the gardener and I chatted. After the gardener had left, Mitch said he’d be happy to do all that I asked, and for free, since he wanted to go full-time in gardening and landscaping and this was a perfect chance to gain valuable experience. Cool, and I was happy to help him out. My partner also heard the conversation and his offer. He watered the lawn, planted some bushes along the fence, bought some mulch out of his own pocket and made the place look very tidy; I was very happy.
But he then decided to go off on his own and start building brick walls, concreting areas, and building a base for my bbq out of broken pieces of marble rescued from a nearby renovation. I wasn’t happy about any of this, but he ignored me and went ahead anyway.
According to my strata body’s by-laws, I cannot make any changes to the garden without their permission in writing. The next meeting is in July. I told Mitch the situation, but perhaps he forgot.
At the same time, he started building ‘projects’—such as aquariums made out of car tyres and toughened glass. In addition, he continued to source wood offcuts from the above building/renovation site, so much so that my carport looked like a builders yard, with the addition of pieces of metal of various shapes and sizes.
Even though it is my house and my carport, I couldn’t get in it because of all of Mitch’s fabrications and materials. I asked him if he could move his ‘things’ so I could park in the carport I had bought (I didn’t want to park on the street because at my old house my car had been broken into once when it was parked in an open carport). ‘Yep, I’ll get onto it’.
You may ask why I didn’t confront him about this. Ah well, on two separate occasions Mitch verbally and violently attacked me for no reason, and after the second time I gave up all hope of talking sensibly with him. He is very verbally and psychologically violent with his son, and I feel threatened by his verbal outbursts, worrying that he will get physically violent. I stay away from him where at all possible, locking myself away in my bedroom, a prisoner in my own home.
My partner is so scared of both Mitch and his aggressive, snarling, growling, barking and bouncy dog that she doesn’t come to my place anymore, which she and I are very sad about.
At one stage, Mitch told me he had put a hole in a plaster wall, but that he’d fixed it and painted over it. I await his departure to check out the damage. Based on his other handiwork, I’m not convinced he did a good enough job repairing the wall.
Here’s some photos of his and his son’s bedrooms, the bathroom and the living-room area upstairs. Be afraid, be very afraid.
Lawyers and the contractually astute will wonder how I am able to take photographs of the rooms that Mitch rents without breaking his right to privacy.
Simples.
When Mitch came for an interview about the rooms, I pointed out that while he was renting two bedrooms and a bathroom, a third bedroom was reserved for me, and that I was to have access to that room at all times, which Mitch was happy to agree to. The third bedroom is my music and computer study room, music being an important part of my creative output (six albums published), as is my creative writing. So, on my way to and from my music and computer room (which Mitch helped himself to, without my permission) I had to pass the living area, the two bedrooms that Mitch was renting from me, and the bathroom. That is how I was able to take photographs of how Mitch had trashed and disrespected my home, let alone how he disrespected and trashed my kitchen.
I have given Mitch a legal seven days notice to vacate because of non-payment of his half of the utility bills, but really it’s because he has trashed my lovely home, completely disrespecting it. I am not confident that he will actually go by the seventh day—instead of looking for accommodation for his son and himself, he has spent many, many hours in the carport fabricating stuff and grinding into steel somethings. I have recourse to bailifs, apparently, but have no idea how long it will be between when I apply for them to remove Mitch and when they actually turn up to do so.
Mitch has tried to hide behind his mental health—but I’m a qualified psychologist and counsellor, and in my opinion his world is not affected by any mental health issues. He’s just an arsehole.
I can’t wait for him to go.
Update: Despite texting Mitch again and again asking politely if he will wash up his dishes, pots and pans he hasn’t. But he has had time to make some microwave noodles and leave the wrapper on the chopping board rather than put it in the bin under the sink. Very disappointed. But not surprised.
All up, Mitch owes me for unpaid utility bills and unpaid rent. That doesn’t include what I’m going to have to pay to have the upstairs area professionally ‘exit cleaned’, the carpet cleaned of blood stains, and repair and re-paint the walls. PLUS hire a skip and some labour to put the detritus that will be left, including his ‘projects’; left because they are in all probability too big and heavy to fit into his sedan. And, of course, all the building materials he used to destroy my garden. His sudden change of behaviour a few months ago makes me wonder if Mitch has started taking Ice (again?). It would certainly explain his bizarre ‘projects’ and his inability to pay his bills, and his propensity to shout loudly and berate his young and impressionable son.
Here’s what Mitch owes:
- Pay half of the Electricity bill: $351.49;
- Rent: $1,400;
- Pay half of the Water bill: $59.51;
- Hire a professional carpet cleaner to clean Luna’s blood out of carpets; $300
- Hire a professional cleaner to clean walls of fingermarks, scuffs, etc. (aka ‘Exit Clean’) $350.
Sure, it’s good to be compassionate, but as friends have pointed out, it should not be at the expense of your own mental and financial health.
Oy vey!
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