The Loo Blues

It's an old house, granted, but when we moved in we immediately noticed that the toilet in the master bathroom ran. And ran. And ran. Nettl thought she'd fixed it last weekend, but yesterday it started running again, and badly. Thinking it was a simple float adjustment, I opened up the tank and took my screwdriver to it. Applying only a little pressure to the gizmo that holds the float in place, the entire intake ballcock came off (yeah, I said ballcock). The wingnut that held it in place was so corroded that it snapped in half. (See Anatomy of a Toilet.)...



Knowing it would be a big honkin' deal getting the landlord to send someone out, then having to hide the cat all day, I called the property management company. The girl there said, "Okay, I'll send someone out."

That was at 2:00 yesterday afternoon. We still can't use our toilet, and I'm still on pins and needles about the cat. It didn't help that the landlord was all over our corner of the block last evening mowing the lawns. In the meantime, we have to go through Micah's room to get to the guys' bathroom.

If the plumber doesn't get here before noon, Nettl's sending out the guy who is the handyman for the real estate company she works for. Hope it works out that way. I can then just tell the plumber (without letting him in the house) that we fixed it.

No hidey teh kitteh.

I know we shouldn't have an Anne Frank cat, but how do you just get rid of a family member like that?
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UPDATE, 3:25 pm:
The toilet's fixed, not because the landlord sent anyone out, but because the handyman from Nettl's work made time to do it. We'll see how long our landlord expects us to be without a toilet... From now on, I'm not calling him for anything, unless a tree limb comes down on the house, or something.