The Squatter House

I Listed a House I'd Never Been Inside. Here's What I Found.

Let me tell you about the time I agreed to list a house based entirely on what I could see through the windows.

In my defense — and I am aware this defense is going to collapse immediately — it looked fine. Partition sale, probate situation, court involved, the whole complicated mess. It took months to work through the legal process before anyone could make entry. And standing outside, peering through the glass like a well-dressed raccoon, I could see neutral walls, decent bones, what appeared to be a tidy interior.

I said yes. I shook hands. I listed it.

Months passed. Paperwork happened. The courts moved at the speed of courts, which is to say the approximate speed of a glacier with a scheduling conflict.

And then finally — FINALLY — we got clearance. It was time. I drove back out to this charming little property that I had professionally committed to sell, walked up to the front door with genuine optimism, turned the handle, and —

The house had squatters.

Past tense, technically, by the time I arrived. But the evidence of their extended stay was very much present tense. Allow me to paint you a picture, or better yet, look at the actual photographs I took because words are insufficient.

The living room had achieved a level of entropy that suggested the previous occupants had simply opened the door, thrown everything they owned inside, and left. The kitchen featured floral wallpaper that I can only describe as aggressive, cabinet doors hanging at philosophical angles, and drawers that had apparently given up and left the premises entirely.

The bedroom — and I want you to really sit with this — was yellow. Not a soft yellow. Not a warm, inviting yellow. The yellow of a person who bought seventeen gallons of the wrong paint and committed anyway. Someone had been sleeping in that room. Recently. On a mattress that had seen things.

I stood in what I believe was originally a bedroom and looked at the green carpet, the stacked plates, the shoes, the boxes, the general archaeological record of multiple humans living rent-free in my listing, and I had one very clear thought:

I should have gone inside first.

This is the part where I give you the professional lesson, which is this: a probate or partition sale property should always — ALWAYS — have an interior inspection before you commit to anything. Courts move slowly. Properties do not hold their condition while you wait. And people, it turns out, will absolutely move into a vacant house if nobody's watching it.

We got it sorted. We're working through it. The squatters are gone, the yellow bedroom is someone else's problem to repaint, and I am a better agent for having learned this lesson in the most vivid possible way.

The floral wallpaper, however, may be eternal.

Chrissy Sidler | 321-890-3143 | chrissy@homesmurphync.com

Sales, Swearing & Sarcasm... What more could you want in a REALTOR!?