When I’m a guest in a friend’s house, I try to follow any instructions my host or hostess may give me. After all, it’s not a hotel or resort. When a host or hostess says “make yourself at home,” they mean “we are glad you’re here, help yourself to the food and libations in the larder, but please don’t rifle through our personal papers and the medicine cabinet.”
One instruction I received before retiring in Shelley’s comfortable family room:
“Keep the door shut so Blossom doesn’t get in. She likes to visit.”
It’s been a long time since I lived with a cat; I forgot how clever and crafty they can be. They can leap on top of refrigerators and china closets and finagle their way through the smallest crack in the door jamb. Keeping the door shut means securely shut with no tiny sliver available for nocturnal feline gymnastics. If the door can be locked, lock it and pray that the cat does not have a key.
When a cat calls in the middle of the night, they’re not visiting to be sociable; there is something they want.
Like a midnight sentry, Blossom slinked in, identified herself and then, abruptly left. Being a resilient sleeper, I drifted back into dreamland.
It’s morning now and the family is starting to bustle. Shelley asked me how I slept and I quickly responded,
“Like a stone in a heavenly bed.”
It’s going to be a busy day for Shelley; she’s got more company coming. She’s got last minute cleaning to do and a roast to get into the oven. She won’t have time to read my blog until maybe around midnight.