All three apartments were in converted mansions. One appeared to be the former wine cellar with a kitchen stuck in it. It had one good room, with hardwood and a lovely metal fireplace, but all the rest had brick walls and floors. The next one was on the third floor, up far too narrow a staircase for me to have any hope of getting my furniture up it. It had lovely features, including another metal fireplace in one room, but all the trim was this kind of barn siding rough grey wood. Also, the washer and dryer were in a closet, one behind the other. I could just squish in past the dryer in order to get the washer top open, but I don't think I could have reached to the bottom of it.
The third apartment was the ground floor of a mansion with a lovely, restored front entrance and handsome porch. It was huge, at least 1800 square feet, with inlaid, patterned hardwood for the floor and some disappointingly plain but quite acceptable fireplaces. The rooms were handsome and the kitchen huge (although there was very little built-in counter space.)
It wasn't quite right for me, despite the high ceilings and natural sunlight and beautiful flooring. It was a little hard to pin down why. I think it was that everything was still a little shabby. The kitchen was newly painted institutional green and the window blinds in the various rooms were cheap. Also, after offering concessions on rent and timing, the landlady intimated that she would need to be persuaded to accept a cat. (Did she expect me to take the apartment but discard the cat if she ultimately decided "no"?) I would be responsible for the heat, and since this was an entire ground floor of an old house with high ceilings, I could expect that to be high (particularly since it was gas heat). If I were still 23 (and could have afforded it back then) I'd be delighted with the place. But it just had an awkward, unfinished, or perhaps badly finished quality to it.
I've seen six places, now, and the place that I want is still the house in the bad neighborhood. But I hesitate. I already know there was one attempted home invasion on the street not too long ago. (I don't actually know the timeframe.) That lady had a large dog; I have a dandified orange cat. And yes, the police came quickly and caught the guy. But if anything could persuade me to own a gun, this would. So the very proposition "live in a neighborhood where you'd feel safer owning a gun" is very scary.
Had lunch, came home, got sick, climbed into bed. The cat climbed under the covers with me, one of his stranger but more endearing habits. Stayed there for four hours, thinking confused thoughts and having strange dreams. The landlord of the place in the bad neighborhood has sent me an email, asking if I got the rental application and wanting to know my intentions. I don't know what to tell him.