This was the Chez Regush 5 star resort. Long ago and far away. I am now muddling through school start-up and - for a real challenge - looking after Bighair's three cats. Talk about a personality overload at her place. First there is Highway 450, the outdoor cat. Friendly, happy, happy, happy... Wants in, but is just happy to have a little affection and several full bowls of food each day.
Then there is Fletcher. Moves like molasses in winter. Happy and low-maintenance. Might go out if you give him a lot of warning and several minutes to stretch out and move towards the door. Same procedure to get him back in at night. Call, whistle, wait. Call, whistle, wait. Then he will appear, slooooooowly, and meander his own sweet way into the house...
And finally, there is Scarlett, the Voldemort of all cats. If hissing was money, I'd be a millionaire. She has a bad, bad temper and doesn't mind letting me know about it. She's mad when I get there in the morning and hisses all the way past me and out the door. Then she takes her bearings and trots up the street to take position on the path to downtown, where she greets all and sundry pretending all the while to be a nice, friendly cat.
In the evening, I drive to the path, go and call her. She comes up - pretending to be a nice, friendly cat. She lets me pick her up, put her in the car and drive her home. Then, it's hisssssssss all the way into the house. Hissssssss while I feed her, clean out the litter box, pet Fletcher, close the blinds, hisss, hisss, hissss. And an occasional swat - claws extended - directed at my leg. I pet her and she hisssssses.
Jo-anne says she's got a call in to Supernanny for Her Hissiness. Good thing.
It all reminds me a lot of dealing with adolescents.
