Grandma is a Klepto

Grandma is not literally a kleptomaniac, I'll get that out of the way first. Still, she's developed some bad habits over the years, and one of them is assuming that anything she sees in certain places is hers. I'm going to tell you a short story, and I promise it's relevant, so pay attention:

Once upon a time there was a loving couple. The wife died, and so the husband let the house go, because let's face it, bachelor pads happen. His daughter and her husband eventually came to live with him, but the son-in-law had mobility problems and no one was willing to go through Mother's Things anyway. So more things got put on top of the original things. Then the son-in-law died, and it was just father and daughter, neither willing or able to go through their deceased loved ones' belongings. They now had A Mess.

The daughter is my grandmother, and now that her father has died too, about twenty or thirty years' worth of stuff has piled up against walls and taken over entire rooms. I am currently living in said stuff, and cannot afford to move out. Back to the point.

There's so much stuff that Grandma has grown accustomed to poking through piles and finding things she doesn't recognize. Sometimes she finds stuff on top of piles that she doesn't recognize, and if she really likes it, she takes it back to my dad's house, where she's currently living. That would be cool if everything in the house was still hers.

I am currently living here.

Sometimes she finds stuff on top of piles that she doesn't recognize, and if she really likes it, she takes it. You see where I'm going with this, don't you?

She's tried to give away my stuff before. I left some things behind when I moved to my sister's, and when I'd visit, I'd find things like my vacuum in places slightly closer to the door every time, as though they were in the process of being sneaked out. My dad actually caught her trying to give something of mine away to a cousin because she'd found it and it looked nice. I believe she tried to give away some of my stuff that's in her storage unit, too. "There's so much stuff in here, I don't know where it came from."

Another short story, but I won't pretend this one didn't happen. Sorry for the subterfuge up there, but I wanted to convey a sense of sympathy and understanding instead of the baffled frustration I really feel.

My father had brought a flashlight over intending to look at and/or fix something, but when he needed it, he couldn't find it. He asked my grandmother, who was also here, if she could help him find a flashlight, any flashlight.

She smiled and said, "Yes, I have one right here in my purse." She dug it out and handed it over. "Isn't it nice? It's much better than the other one I had."

And my dad's like, "That's my flashlight." He let her keep it since she liked it so much and since her old flashlight really sucked, but things like that happen a lot. You don't set things down in this house, even if you'll remember where you put them, because they'll disappear. Sometimes they'll get knocked over, but more likely a visitor will take them.

By "a visitor" I could mean one of my cousins, but I don't. I mean Grandma.*
*Author's Note: I love my grandmother. All this is between me and you, right?