Last February I was in Sonoma visiting Suzanne (a/k/a SuzannimalWest vs. me: SuzannimalEast) during two of the most beautiful weeks possible — the weather was extraordinarily perfect each and every day. I’d always loved coming to Sonoma; in fact when it came time to visit Suzanne, she’d ask each time if I wanted to stay in the city or head up to the country. “The country!”, of course (WHY was she asking me … wasn’t it obvious?!). As wonderful as San Francisco is (and as fabulous as Suzanne’s home there is — think ‘Architectural Digest’ with Suzanne’s heart in every inch of the three-story town house with views of both Alcatraz and the Golden Gate Bridge), Sonoma is special: rolling hills, working farms, innumerable vineyards, amazing light (not unlike that which you find in Tuscany — and on the Big Horn Mountains in Wyoming!), incredible cuisine, cowboy boots, high heels, historical sites … all wrapped up in a small-town ribbon that I find appealing and particularly soothing to my soul.
So during this idyllic two-week visit last February, the thought came to me: I love it here. Why don’t I move here? Was there a reason why I couldn’t move here — why I shouldn’t move here? Ready to sell my home in Lexington (a condo, actually), I began looking at real estate ads here; quickly, though, a better idea came to me: rent for an extended time first, and then decide if Sonoma’s ‘sexiness’ was something serious. I don’t know how any of these thoughts came to me — or why they came to me. I’m thinking now that I was finally reaching deeper into myself as I processed the past few years of my life — no longer married, and with children engrossed in their own journeys as husbands and parents, what was keeping me tied to a life of ‘what was then’, rather than to a life of ‘what was now’?
I grabbed the local paper and started looking at rentals: homes, apartments, condos … 2 bedrooms … pet-friendly, of course. What I found were some interesting but pedantic options; others were scary and depressing. Could I live without outside space (some decent looking condos)? Could I live in a fixer-upper (my inner Martha Stewart said, “hell, yeah!”)? But nothing hit me as anything I could see living in, and so I let the search fizzle out. Until … until I remembered that I am in the rental business, and one of the options we use to let people know about our wonderful vacation homes in Nashaquisset is the burgeoning category of online vacation rental sites. I hadn’t been thinking of this ‘sabbatical’ as a vacation … but the home I was looking for was definitely vacation-like: fully furnished, walk in on Day 1, walk out on whichever day was the last one. No muss, no fuss. I jumped online and searched again: this time it was for a Sonoma home within walking distance to the Square, one or two bedrooms, definitely pet-friendly, preferably on the east side of town. I found several that fit the criteria, and now it was time to whittle down the choices. I zoomed through the photos, read the descriptions, tried to envision who my landlord or lady would be. As on-site landlady to those who rent at Nashaquisset, I just naturally assumed my Sonoma home would be attended by an on-site (or at least local) manager – if any toilet clogged or if I dropped something down the disposal and couldn’t understand why it was making excruciatingly painful noises or if the television wasn’t working (forget the fact that I hit a button on the remote control that I shouldn’t have and THAT’S why the tv wasn’t working) or if a light bulb went out over the bathroom sink, at least my landlord/lady would JUMP to take care of the issue for me, their very special renter.
Three houses made the first round of go-sees, but I was in Boston by now; thankfully, SuzannimalWest was still in Sonoma. She checked out the homes, texted me photos, called me with her evaluations. When she visited 856 Oak Lane (the third of the three homes), she called: THIS was the house, the best of the three, so cute, charming … and my landlady/lord lived on the same property! I trusted Suzanne implicitly with determining which home would best suit me and Smokey, so I contacted the owners of the cottage, agreed to a monthly rent, signed the contract and sent in the the deposit. And as soon as I did, a question came up that I didn’t anticipate: this house was listed as ‘pet-friendly’, but all the paperwork referred to dogs. Were cats considered pets and therefore covered under the pet-friendly mantle?
I shot off an email to my prospective landlady, asking the question. After consulting with her husband, she wrote back that while they were concerned because cats left awful odors when they peed on the rugs, they would allow Smokey with an added Security Deposit (thankfully she didn’t mention cats scratching on furniture). That was fine with me — but really: if a cat is peeing on rugs or otherwise (not in their litter box), they’re either sick or really hostile. Smokey was neither and I knew she would use her litter box just like a lady cat does, so I thanked Liz for allowing me to bring Smokey and invited Liz to let me know if she ever smelled a cat in the cottage (Wait! What a cute name for a book: A Cat in the Cottage!!!) — I would take care of the problem immediately. I know Smokey won’t let me down… but just in case something happens, I’ll take care of it immediately.
And for the record: A great scratching post from the local AG store (agricultural store, but it’s simply called the Ag Store — you can get cat food and hay bales and baby chicks there!) and a ‘keep off the furniture’ spray with an odor that cats can’t stand and humans can barely determine have helped Smokey refrain from pawing at the furniture. So far. (I have a separate ‘replace the furniture account’ in place, just in case.)
Sonoma Sojourn 