choose a place that has free breakfast in the morning, or at least built into the price. Also, the pictures online featuring a beautiful pool in their backyard helped seal the deal, though I hardly used it my entire time there. It only has six rooms, but it was just a couple of blocks from Duval Street, the center of the action, meaning if things got too wild, it was a short walk back to my room.
When I parked, I was stunned to see how big the place was. I later learned it used to be the mansion of a successful businessman during Key West’s infancy. I was greeted almost immediately by a motherly-looking woman who introduced herself as Jean, who walked me into the “front room” which acted as registration when guests arrived, and a place for people to hang out when they just want to get away from the heat and humidity for a few minutes. During the day there was always a tray of ice cold water sitting on a table just inside the front door. I don’t think this was done for the tourists, because they would have had no way of knowing they were welcome inside. It was instead for the local working population that had to walk to and from their jobs, often in the sweltering weather. Nice touch.
After telling me a little about the property, Jean checked me in and insisted on taking my bags, showing me to my room. The room wasn’t as big as I thought it would be from the outside, but it was just fine. It had a full size bed, a small desk with a lamp on a table on one side of the bed, and a small older-style TV in the right corner. In front of the bed was a storage chest. In the other corner were two doors, behind one was a small kitchen, complete with stove, and the other was a bathroom.
Jean opened the two windows in the room before I could protest, but realized she was probably doing this to get some of the muggy air out of the room. She also blasted a wall unit A/C. It was loud, but effective. Jean explained that she could have the room cleaned every day, even if I just left for 20 minutes. I thought of asking her how she would know if I was there or not, but with six rooms, I guessed she knew who was there and who was not. Breakfast is served at 8 a.m. daily, dinner at 5 p.m., and there was a refrigerator that had bottled water and fresh fruit, which I was free to help myself to at anytime. It was only about 8:00 p.m., but after the long drive, my art store antics, and Bahama’s swim, I was pretty beat. Before too long I crashed onto the bed.
The next sound I heard sounded like a child screaming, and a loud crashing. Between not remembering where I was, and being unable to locate a light, I was soon in a panic. After a few seconds of being awake, my senses came back to me guided by the light peeking in from the open window. There was a cat in the room, and Bahama was obsessed with getting to it. Bahama generally likes cats, but with me asleep and being in a new area, she had turned into my little guard dog.
I figured out by doing my best Sherlock impersonation that the cat must have entered through the open window. I was just telling Bahama to settle down when I spotted the digital clock on the desk, it was easier to find now that the lamp had crashed to the floor thanks to our early morning intruder. 2:16 a.m. Knock – Knock – Knock.
“Everything okay in there?” asked a man from the other side of the door.
“A cat’s in here going crazy – got in through the window,” I replied, trying to direct the cat to one of the two open windows and protecting myself from the cat’s claws. I was hoping Bahama didn’t follow the cat out the window.
He must not have heard me over the hissing. I heard a key turn, and he came in. Rather calmly he
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