#RogueTripPlaylette - 07.08.2014 (now 10.08.2014)

WiFi here in Alice Springs is crap, so pictures will have to wait until my train arrives in Darwin; apologies. In the meantime, here's a RogueTripPlaylette for ya.

UPDATE 10.08.2014 : Well, the WiFi in Alice Springs was worse than I thought, as this never posted. (shrug) Here it is now...

***

I already knew exactly where I was spending the night in Adelaide, Australia. I had reserved it through AirBnB and stayed there already a couple of weeks ago, for two nights. So I was familiar already with the area and with my hosts. The familiarity relieved me. I've found I'm still getting disoriented as I'm on the road for these  many, many days in a row. Anything that’s familiar becomes ballast that soothes me - a city I've been to, a public transportation system I know, a house I've slept in.

The husband was kind enough to meet me in front of the Adelaide Cathedral to give me the key to his home, and I took the bus ten minutes north and let myself in. I showered, shaved, and napped. Then I decided to go out and buy groceries for the next day’s train ride to Darwin. Like the house, my previous visit had taught me where the supermarket was, and it was easy to walk there, do my shopping, and return. I grabbed a lemon gelato and ate it on the way back to the house. Easy, familiar. comfortable.

I settled in to do some work. After thirty minutes at the dining room table, typing on my laptop, I heard a scratching at the sliding glass front door. I looked up. It was the hosts’ cat. A mix of black and grey fur, with calm green eyes, she scratched casually at the door, waiting patiently for me to let her inside the house.

I, on the other hand, did terrified somersaults in my brain. Had I accidentally let the cat out when I went out for groceries? How irresponsible! How inconsiderate! How horrendous! How lucky was I that the cat had returned? How bad could my ensuing AirBnB review have been? “Bill is a courteous and considerate guest…He left his room exactly as he found it. He did, however, lose our cat.” 

How…wait, I thought. Wait a second. Is that their cat?

My previous visit had only been two nights, over two weeks ago. I had neither the time nor the inclination to become familiar enough with their cat to know that this one was actually theirs. I am not a cat person. I might argue that most cats look the same to me (I don’t even see color, man). 

So. Should I, in fact, let this cat in? What if it wasn’t the same cat? What if it fought with their actual cat? What if it were only waiting for some dupe to mistake it for the rightful cat, and allow it entrance, where it could get rid of the rightful cat and ensconce itself in the home as its new ruler?

The argument in my brain took a couple of minutes, before I decided that, provided the cats got along, it made more sense to let this cat in, regardless of its home. In this particular instance, I thought, one too many cats is better than one too few.

So I let the cat in. It walked - the better word is “strolled” - in, past me in the dining room. Yes, yes - like it owned the place. Now, all cats walk that way, so that told me little. It strolled through the kitchen, around the free-standing counter, and down the hallway, disappearing into the master bedroom.

“Okay,” I muttered, retracing its steps as if watching a ghost. “That seems like it’s the right cat.”

Satisfied, I went back to work.

Ten minutes later, more typing, and another scratch at the glass door. I looked up. Same cat, same patient look on its face, same casual scratching.

As I let the cat in again, I actually thought to myself, “There’s gotta be a hole in this house.”

At five o’clock on the dot, when the husband returned to his home from work, when he entered, I stood up from my laptop. “I have to ask you to do something for me,” I said. “It may seem strange, but I will explain.”

“No worries.”

I pointed under the desk in the living room, where the actual owner of the house was now laid out on its belly, sleeping. “Please confirm for me, that that is your cat.”