Every single one of us has crazy crap happen to us when it is least expected. Well, when cleaning seems like you are always on the frontline of something crazy happening.

These are a collaboration of stories from myself, other housecleaners, and things I have heard about along the way. Hope you enjoy it.

I was cleaning on a grow-out in the countryside about 45 miles away from Pueblo near the foothills. I had seen llamas, owls, and deer out there - that was something I was used to in Colorado. But one day, I finished cleaning and took my gear out to my van to leave. I heard a hissing, and "rww'ing" coming from under my van.

As I went to bend down in human nature to see what it was thinking it was a stray barn cat. Rocks shot out from underneath my van toward my face. Ouch!

No damn domestic cat I ever encountered had the strength to fling as hard as those rocks moved. I ran up to the porch, and leaned over

I called the owner and he came down to help me, I had thought about making a mad dash to get in the van and just drive off. But every time I went toward it the damn car hissed and flung rocks. Didn't seem safe. Plus, I had to get out of there I had an appointment at 2 pm at another client's house to get through.

He showed up, went into his house, and came out with this old dusty rifle that hung behind the door. Seemingly annoyed his receptionist and I freaked out and were acting like total girls about it all. He got down on his belly and was sighting in on the bobcat and I said, "just don't hit the gas tank, or we all die".

"You know what, it's your van, you do it", as he shoved his rifle into my arms across my chest. Chicken shit. I sat the gun down on the porch and grabbed a handful of the driveway gravel and threw it back at it to scare it off. Rawr! Rawr!

I mean I wasn't going to blow my shit up either. C'mon.

The receptionist and I bent down to grab more handfuls of rocks and threw them. The cat started to bolt out by the front tire and the next thing I heard was 'BOOM' and saw the cat fall to its side about a foot in front of my van.

Moved for a few moments and just stopped breathing. We approached cautiously and it was dead. The teeth on that thing were scary, the nails even worse.

After calling the wildlife rangers, waiting, and having to reschedule my appointment for the oddest reason, she didn't even believe me at first.

We weren't allowed to even touch it or keep a tooth, claw, or anything from the experience. But that was intense, to say the least. I didn't work for him much longer after that. Wasn't impressed.

There's a simple reason I say cleaning is a shitty job. Because it always involves poop, one way or another.

Getting a call asking if I can come over immediately and help was not foreign to me. That was about monthly. These ranged in severity but I always took my rubber boots with me.

I have elderly clients and they can end up in some of the most precarious situations at times. Seriously.

So I arrive and I've known her for years, I'm familiar with the family.

There is poop.

You can smell it. You can see a streak from the seat of her Lazyboy to the floor, across the living room hardwood, to the stairs, and up the carpeted stairs. Yes.

On the hallway hardwood following the stairs was the streak into the bathroom and all over the toilet that was repainted, unwillingly.

It took me a moment to take in what exactly had happened here.

She tracked her walker, and oxygen cord (which provided her essential livelihood), through her feces trail. Repeatedly. For six days, she had tracked this around her house, even dried poo particles are deadly.

Everything had to be cleaned top to bottom, in bleach. Including her oxygen line, which I soaked and cleaned thoroughly. I had to shop vac the entire house and disinfect anything anyone would touch, the fans.. poo particles are disgusting and a serious biohazard.

It was hell.

As much as I adored her and wanted to be close to her, I couldn't do that again. For $90.00. I didn't say much. I politely made my leave and ghosted.

It wasn't my place to hurt her feelings.

But it wasn't my place to subject myself to the hundreds of bacteria, parasites, E.coli, or various amounts of toxins I endured while returning her home to the standards of the Department of Human Services elderly protocol.

I got a call for a property on top of the tabletop plateau in my neck of the woods. I was curious about the property alone so I agreed to meet with the family.

As I was driving up this seemingly desolate country road I saw a sign expressing firmly no trespassing and a few hundred feet down another. But saying "". Ok, well they asked me to come.

I came up to an electric gate with a button post and speaker to talk to. The sign read, '

I hit the button.

Nothing. Hit it again. Nope, nothing.

Ok.

I went to get in my truck and leave the gate area. Behind me, a truck came flying up on my bumper out of nowhere. I pulled over away from the entrance and started to get out of my door.

", he yelled at me.

"You called me here, to clean", I said.

"Oh, why didn't you say so? Follow me up to the house", he said calmly and like nothing had happened to make me need new underwear.

Was an awesome family. Never wanted to figure out their secret. Did my dues and let them find a more permanent cleaner who wanted the thirty-mile drive in and out of their property.

Took a move-out clean, sight unseen, realtor requested and paid for in advance. No choice, the job had to be done and the right way. I had my sons that Summer in tow and figured we'd be in and out of there in no time together. Last minute my youngest decides not to go with us.

My oldest and I walked into a duplex that was ranch-style with two bedrooms, two bathrooms, and an island counter in the kitchen. About 1,100 Sq. Ft., pretty standard issue move-out clean.

Although, this house had a feeling that you couldn't shake while there. Like when your parents fought growing up and you didn't want to leave your room scary. We were both on our toes and both frustrated. Nothing was working right. Running out of cleaners. No scouring pads. Etc.

The outlets to far to reach to finish a task, and the mop water spilled making a huge mess. Both my son and I were unusually affected and annoyed within an hour of cleaning this place. We normally are not quick to react or snap at each other but that day, we were at each other's throats. The house was full of anger and despair that you could feel.

I turned to ask him to hand me the furniture polish for the baseboards and all of a sudden the door between us separating the rooms just slammed shut. Hard. Neither he nor I were close enough to touch the door. No one else was there with us.

We were freaked out. Stared at each other and decided to hurry the hell up and get out of there.

I didn't believe in the ghost BS I saw on T.V., and nothing ever happened to convince me differently. Until this day.

We had the kitchen, coat closet, and foyer at the front door to finish and we were done.

As I wiped the island down, I turned to do the counters. When I turned back there was a palm print on the island counter, dry. The rest of the counter was wet with my rags wipe.

"Son, don't touch. I want to get out of here", I said to him.

"I didn't mom", he looked at me and said.

I wiped that side of the counter again and went to load up my gear. The dry handprint was back.

"SON!!", I yelled. He came into the kitchen by the refrigerator. He didn't have the time to do that and meander out the front door.

I took the rag out of my pack and wiped it a third time, this time as I wiped I could see it in a different spot on the right side of the counter, right next to me.

Nope. No, thank you. I grabbed my stuff, locked the door, and left. Never have I cleaned on that street again.

I have a lot of elderly clients. I have also attended CPR training and try to keep my card up to date in case anyone ever needs assistance. Never thought I'd have to use it, but I have. Twice.

At work. And twice personally. So, useful - yes!

I showed up and she just didn't seem like her normal vibrant self, she looked gray and was sitting in her chair with a solemn look on her face.

I'd been cleaning for about 30 minutes and noticed she was slumped in her chair. She never said anything weird and did not do anything, or move. She just slumped over like a limp teddy bear.

"Are you ok?", I asked. She just mumbled and was acting strange. I told her to hold on I was calling 911. The operator asks me to feel her pulse and start chest compressions on her.

I felt horrible and hate to admit this, but when I moved her to the ground her body thudded off of the chair onto the floor. It had to of hurt. I didn't mean it, and freaked out is a mild term here.

Have you ever had to give chest compressions to someone? Looks easy. It's not. It is absolutely exhausting. First three minutes you're a hero, you got this. After that, your arms feel like that stretchable Hulk toy with the incredibly bendy arms from the 80s.

By the time the ambulance got there, my jelly arms and brain were shot.

She had a stroke, but she did recover and returned home. I cleaned for her for two more years. But after some time went by, she needed full-time care in a home with nurses. I did her move-out clean and prepped the home for the renters the family had chosen.

Again, another long-time client clean I showed up for at my regularly scheduled time.

When he answered he seemed the same, but this one happened before I met her family.

He was gray, sweaty, and seemed at a slower pace but was busy with his tasks in the basement. I started in the den as my normal routine and worked my way around the house.

I went to go start the laundry in the basement after I got there, so when I went to change it over to the dryer I saw he was down. On the floor face down, unconscious and unresponsive.

I dialed 911 immediately not knowing exactly how long he was on the ground.

The male operator this time ask the same questions, and I rolled him onto his back.

Again, with this. 1, 2, 3, 4... breathe. And then, 1, 2, 3, 4... breathe. Arms, on fire. Ow.

I didn't know he had locked the front door and never heard the sirens arrive in the basement. I was scared to my wit's end when I heard a loud 'BOOM' of the front door being knocked open.

I knew they were coming, but still.

He survived as well. I also stayed cleaning for him until he moved to Denver to live with his daughter due to aging and it being safer with family than alone.

I do renovation work from time to time when the contracts are lucrative enough. So I took on this Victorian-style two-story bungalow on a crappy side of town. This house was the epitome of the word Tartarus (hell). Not one damn thing went right, even personally for me at this time.

I left my tools on site and locked up the house nightly. It was down to bare bones in that house. I had my drills, saws, and tools all sitting there ready for use.

I had also hired two helpers off of the list, so I kept water, Gatorade, and easy-eat items on site. It's not easy being a woman boss of a renovation site. Men don't listen well to women in authority. A lot like children they push limits, like hour-and-a-half-long lunches.

On a Wednesday, I closed the shop for the evening to return the next morning to a broken-in backdoor, muffin wrappers everywhere, empty bottles all over, and piss in the buckets we used for various things. Gross.

After a very loud and armed house check for anyone still residing it was noticed that none of my tools that were easily pawned were gone. Nothing removed.

The cop even said it was the first time he ever went to a 'dining robbery'.

Back at that same renovation house, I mentioned I did when I lost my muffins over tools.

I was wall patching and seaming holes upstairs one day. I heard a siren whoop, whoop. So naturally, I went to the window to see what was going on.

I saw the neighborhood kids leaving the convenience store, eating their snacks ambivalent about anything in the world.

I also saw...

The cop pulled over some sketchy gang banger types in a beat-up SUV just across the way from the house. They were tatted out and acting like they were on meth, moving all erratic and not listening to the cop's instructions.

When the cop drew his gun on the vehicle from behind them. I don't think he could see the kids walking in his line of fire through the SUV.

They had no idea that opening a bag of chips while walking ten feet ahead could kill them if that cop assumed it was the perpetrators.

I and another woman who must've been watching started yelling "KIDS!! KIDS!! GET DOWN. STOP THERE ARE CHILDREN!!", we shrieked.

I couldn't see her. But I could hear her yelling just as I was.

The driver got out of the SUV and the cop disarmed his gun. Arresting him and ending the ordeal peacefully.

Too close.

I've watched my sons a hell of a lot closer since then too.

I love country homes. The wide open spaces, no car noise, no human distractions. Just mother nature.

Even more so when you pull up to your client's house and get out to two friendly llamas.

They would nudge you like a dog, and follow you to the house, they even gave kisses (but they were super gross and slimy), and they even had their way of communicating through noises.

Super cool animals.

Every open has them, the syndicated family. You know the ones who know everyone, the driveway is always a parking lot. They had all the expensive new merchandise, cars are hot and their jewelry is rivaled. Yeah, that family is exactly the one I'm referring to.

So I get a call from a lady, she has a spice rack that needs to be organized.

Simple enough.

When I arrived she had a linen closet for a spice rack. And her food smelled amazing. I proceeded to remove and reorganize spices I couldn't even name. And I love to cook. I grow herbs. I watch Food Network and I'm no Gordon Ramsey but I don't think he'd roast me for one of my meals.

I asked to smell them and she even let me have small amounts of some things I enjoyed. My god, this small town had a spice cabinet that some chefs at five-star restaurants can't get close to having that close or as much of it to use.

So her story was she was the family cook, all big meals, events, Sunday dinners, they stop by for lunch like it's a bodega. She was an astounding cook.

Loved by the entire family.

But alone. To cook and love others. She never married, and never had children. Said she always wanted to but her brothers never found a man suitable for her to marry. She was a lone ranger. Almost forgotten.

I hated she felt that way.

I never had a Cuban sandwich in my life and she made me one. Now I always try a Cuban no matter where I go and compare. Never, not even close.

I still talk to her l and stop by sometimes to chat. Her spices are still well organized and I've met most of the family over the years too and they're great people.

They just don't play by our rules.

I got a call from a woman who said she was traveling with her husband in an RV and needed assistance cleaning it and getting it back on track. Asking if I would meet her in a Walmart parking lot. Awkward!

This is an unsafe request so I told her that I was uncomfortable and didn't want to partake in anything nefarious. She explained to me that they were an older couple, retired and doing a hunting tour before returning home.

I was assuming the worst. Like they were tweakers who needed a pig sty cleaned.

Not at all. I learned to be cautious but not judge a book by its cover.

As well as to ask proper questions.

I'd been cleaning for this single mother of two small children for about nine months.

Things were going quite well. She had recently gotten a kitten as well. I showed up to clean and the entire house was in a tizzy. The kitten had been missing for a day and they were looking everywhere for her.

I aided in the search but gave up to start cleaning the house knowing I may have better luck.

As I went to get put her laundry away as usual. I opened the dresser drawer in her daughter's bedroom. The kitten was laying there, dead. She had either suffocated or starved to death in that drawer. I knew her daughter wasn't but five years old, but still.

I went and got the mom and told her what I found. She asked me to remove it and throw it away.

I've always thought twice about children and animals being together ever since then.