Strange But True

Not long after moving to California I rented a small cabin in Devonshire Canyon. It was not very big, nor in good condition, but perfect for a single young man making a modest living. It was perched on a hillside, a three story walk up from the street to the front deck; good, because the living room was close to the street. Ostensibly it had two bedrooms but the second was good for a desk and that was about it. It was split level, with the living room and deck a yard below the bedroom, a dining area, kitchen, bath, and an anteroom off the kitchen. It was an odd shape. The back windows looked out to a stone wall and up the stepp hill. Not a perfect home but it served me quite well for nine years. It had a deck, got good sun for half the year, and was enclosed in lush overgrowth and oak trees. Every year this enormous yellow rose came out. The flower was bigger than a cabbage. The house became infested with roof rats. No amount of extermination changed things, but when I took temporary custody of two cats for  friends traveling overseas the problem vanished. A unique variety of needle point ivy grew there, that I have never seen before or since, and luckily I took cuttings.

One sunny weekend morning a man knocked on the door, to say he liked the house and inquired if I would sell it. The place is barely visible from the street. There is enough not to like about it. His interest seemed a little misguided. Who would want this run-down tiny old place in an expensive neighborhood? I was busy enjoying the morning. I did not want to waste time and conversation, nor explain I was a tenant and not an owner. I said no but thank you, closed the door, and went about enjoying a sunny morning.

Years later one sunny weekend morning, I was reading a local paper,  enjoying the nice day and my cute little abode. There was a small article about a horrific and brutal child abuser tried locally and just sentenced. I saw the picture. Same guy.