I have no idea how I'd react.  I'd like to think it would involve a large stick, or perhaps one of the knives, but it's hard to say.  It would probably take me on the order of minutes if not quarter-hours to actually believe it was happening.
"This is the sort of thing that happens to Gus, not me!"
Famous last words.
	
 
		
		
 I think if I came home from a long trip to find a stranger who had taken possession of my house I would just sit down on the spot and DIE.
This doesn't strike me as a 
robust
response.
	
 
		
		
You want robust?  Go get ita.
	
 
		
		
I'm still working on how difficult it's got to be to set a shopping cart on fire. 
I am thinking, blowtorch.
 I think if I came home from a long trip to find a stranger who had taken possession of my house I would just sit down on the spot and DIE.
I would snap, and not in that lovely spring peas way but in that first ten minutes of a horror movie way. I have a thing about my personal space/property, and the voluntariness of my sharing it.
	
 
		
		
I'm still working on how difficult it's got to be to set a shopping cart on fire.
It was a shopping cart with some clothes and scrap wood in it.
	
 
		
		
Timelies all!
Gus! Sorry you had to deal with the squatter in your house.(I'm not a Scotch drinker, but I will mourn the loss of the Really Good Scotch with
you.)
	
 
		
		
  It would probably take me on the order of minutes if not quarter-hours to actually believe it was happening.
Seriously. That was the feeling.  "This is not real. Okay, maybe it could be  real. O, crap. This is real."
	
 
		
		
I want to admit that I would do as Betsy would, but then I remember my dream last night and I am not so sure. I dreamt that a glossy blond couple in an SUV coasted through a red light and almost ran over my baby brother and me. I took off running after them and punching the SUV and woke Hec up at 5:30 snarling, 
"Fuck you! You have a RESPONSIBILITY!"
Apparently I'm a lot surlier and more territorial in my sleep. This bodes ill for anyone who tries to move in while I'm napping.
	
 
		
		
I just got an e-mail from my grandfather recapping our phone conversation yesterday (and not a snarky recap, either).  It's so weird - what is the point of that?  He (grandfather) cc'd  DH, but wouldn't you assume DH and I talk about the important stuff anyway?
	
 
		
		
 I think if I came home from a long trip to find a stranger who had taken possession of my house I would just sit down on the spot and DIE.
If I didn't die the time I came home from a three-week trip to Australia to discover three decomposing rats and associated fauna in my den and kitchen, you wouldn't die either. I did call the country at 2 a.m. in the vague hope that there was a service for hysterical taxpayers with decomposing rats. There's not.