Day 766

My Uncle Avid liked to hoard the strangest things, always claiming they kept him safe. I was five when he was moved out of his four storey catastrophe of a house and into residential care indefinitely. He used to tell me the same thing every time I visited him, he'd say "Keep it busy in there, keep it confused and keep it inside!" but never specified what, only managing to squeeze that phrase in when everyone else was busy or just leaving.

When I "helped" (was roped into cleaning because hiring help is expensive and your kids will work for free) into sorting out his place to be made ready for him moving back in or selling it altogether, I found a few unusual things that all pointed to some kind of dog living with him. That or a second person, or something in between  - it was hard to tell at the time.

Things like the table being left clear in two places, two sets of everything from glasses to clothes to towels and toothbrushes, it was all tied up in pairs. A while after this discovery they tried to get Uncle Avid tested for OCD but it came back as inconclusive as any other test they did on him.

There was also the scuttling noises that happened during the evenings my family and I spent cleaning there, the ones that grew louder the more clutter we cleared away. By the last few weeks, once most of the rooms were showroom spotless all we could hear was this loud clacking sound always coming from somewhere above us. Pest control sealed off the house for investigation and fumigation, finding nothing but scratches on the floor and the return of the noises the following day.

As Uncle Avid grew worse we chose to sell the house and pay for him to stay in care, he seemed to be doing better there. Less paranoid about "keeping it in" and beginning to act like his old self once more.At least until my aunt carelessly showed him photos of the clean house and he went into a fit of hysteria, screaming that it was out and loose and it would latch onto someone else.

He never quite recovered from that, rarely leaving his room and trying to barricade the doors at night "for their safety" against whatever he felt threatened him. Meanwhile I was twelve and hearing odd noises coming from downstairs that sounded kind of like the cats that fought and hissed at each other outside every night. Some times it sounded like it was saying "Avid" over and over again, moving about and looking for him.

I remember using a mirror on string down the stairs to try and see what the cat looked like. It was a poorly conceived plan I'll admit but it was the best I could do at the time. The hallway looked empty but I could still hear it calling for my uncle over and over again, moving down the hall towards the mirror. The sounds of claws scratching wood picked up in pace as something ran for the mirror, grabbing it and yanking it out if my hands with surprising strength.

I think I know what he meant now and how he got into hoarding. Objects keep it amused and keep it quiet, keep its claws away from everyone else. Yes, his strategy was good but I've found a much simpler way to keep it away from me. I keep wind chimes downstairs, forty seven at my last count and growing. It bats them about all night long while I sleep with earplugs in. I had to start this collection. It began calling my name instead.