Meow is like aloha — it can mean anything.
~Hank Ketchum
I was a half-hour late starting my morning baking routine at our family-owned bed-and-breakfast. I rushed to the back room and pulled out my mixing bowls and ingredients. Then I froze. Oh, no! Mouse droppings! I grabbed everything and dashed to the kitchen to shove the dishes in a disinfecting wash. Then I raced back and scrubbed the table and counters. Ugh! I could not ignore this situation. I double-checked the food containers to be positive nothing had gotten to them. Everything looked clean once again.
Crisis averted, I managed to get breakfast ready on time. After morning coffee with our guests, I set out to start the laundry. While I worked, I thought back on my unwelcome find from the morning. Our B&B is along a river in rural Washington. It is common to see a variety of animals, but none of them should be in my pantry!
Later that afternoon, I sipped a glass of iced tea while scrolling through social media. A pair of big, green eyes caught my attention. The eyes belonged to a cat. Not a kitten, but a young cat. His eyes spoke directly to me: “I will solve your dilemma.” No, I thought to myself. We can’t do that. Our bed and breakfast has a no-pet policy. What would we do with a cat?
As my day continued, I couldn’t erase that little face from my mind. I gave in and called the number on the notice. After a brief phone conversation, I announced to my family we were going to meet a cat. We piled into the car and started our hour-long ride to the remote hunting lodge where the cat lived. I attempted to downplay the situation. “Don’t be too hopeful,” I said. Maybe this cat wouldn’t work out. We required him to be an expert mouser, but he also needed to stay away from the guests and out of the guest rooms. As we drove, I relayed what details I knew about the cat.
He was six months old. He had no name. It appeared he was a skilled hunter, which is why the family that owned him needed to get rid of him. The cat needed rescuing. They lived in an area with an abundance of rattlesnakes. The cat had been seen hunting the snakes. He was young and naïve and didn’t know that playing with rattlers could be the “curiosity that killed the cat.”
We arrived at the turnoff for the dirt road that led to the lodge and bounced along over the rocks and ruts. Once we arrived, we piled out of the car and knocked on the door. A young lady answered. “We’re here to look at the cat,” I told her.
“Come in,” she replied. “I will try to find him.”
Soon, she returned with a huge, magnificent, tabby-striped, allboy cat in her arms. We approached to pet him. Not impressed, his facial expression said, “Who are you people, and why are you touching me?” He was not mean, but it was obvious he wanted nothing to do with us. I had been sure our connection would be instant, so I was disappointed. After a quick family talk, we agreed to take him on a trial basis. We needed him to hunt mice. It would be better if he was somewhat aloof and didn’t want to interact with the guests or us. Silent, but deadly — that would work!
Thus, the cat we named Oliver came to live with us.
He did hunt mice. In fact, I never saw one in the back kitchen after Oliver arrived. Hunting mice was Oliver’s passion, but greeting and taking care of our guests became his life mission. Within one week of his arrival, he had the B&B schedule memorized. He showed up at check-in time to scope out the petting potential of the new arrivals. We provided specific guidelines to our guests regarding our no-pet policy and emphasized that these rules included Oliver. He had other plans. He felt positive it was his responsibility to examine each room as guests were bringing in their luggage. Maybe he wanted to make sure there was nothing that could potentially harm them hiding in their rooms. We worried our guests might find him annoying, but they did not, and he soon became very popular. Pictures and stories of him popped up on Facebook and in our guestbook. Our social-media friends and followers enjoyed the pictures I posted of Oliver. People dropped by during the day just to meet him.
Oliver took what he perceived to be his duty seriously, making sure that everybody came downstairs for breakfast at 8:00 sharp. If they were late, he positioned himself outside their door and waited. He followed guests up and down the stairs and took time to make himself available for petting therapy if needed. Petting always culminated in a reward of a deep, rumbling purr. For those who desired something rougher, he pounced, wrestled and played, but always kept his claws pulled back so he didn’t hurt anyone.
As the days rolled on and summer turned into fall, our B&B reservations slowed. Soon, tourist season would end for the year. One morning, we had no overnight guests for the first time since Oliver had arrived. As I went through my morning chores, I could see Oliver running up and down the stairs. I wondered what he was doing. Then I stepped outside and looked up from the stairs toward the guest rooms. There was Oliver sitting on the deck above me with his head poking through the banister railings. He stared off into the distance, and then glanced at me and made a miserable little cry. Now I understood the problem. It was past 8:00 in the morning, and no people had come for breakfast. No guests were in the rooms. Oliver was searching for “his” people. He appeared confused and perplexed. Poor Oliver.
It has been almost a year since Oliver came to live at the B&B. He has learned to accept that sometimes there are no guests to pet him in the morning. He has achieved great success hunting mice. He has spent long “night shifts” patrolling the property and protecting his loved ones. But he has also captured the hearts of all who meet him.
Oliver is the embodiment of sociability. He puts the guests first and is ready to do his part to make their stay at our B&B special and memorable. Oliver is our very own hospitality cat.
~Connie Nice
