(Post #53) Cordova Bay: A cat leaves her mark (literally)

I left one Bay for another Bay. Easy, right? Except the names sound so similar I half expected to drive back to Remy’s place by accident. From Cadboro Bay to Cordova Bay—it’s like someone ran out of creativity on the nautical naming committee.

But here’s something I love about this nomadic lifestyle: I don’t just drive past these places and wonder what it’s like to live there—I actually get to find out. Cordova Bay has history, views, trails, and now, thanks to Nellie the cat, peace of mind.

Let’s start with the view. I wondered if the condo would offer one, and oh boy, did it ever. A wraparound balcony with two exits (yes, Nellie gets VIP access 24/7), overlooking not just the ocean and Mount Baker, but also a perfectly manicured golf course. That’s right—every morning, I sipped my tea while spying on golfers through the provided binoculars. If that view is not a sign from the universe to keep up my golf lessons, I don’t know what is.

Speaking of which, I hit the driving range a few times during my stay and realized: I still haven’t returned the borrowed clubs to Sean. I have a feeling he’s fine with it—after all, the better I get, the easier his job will be this fall when we hopefully start up lessons again.

Now let’s talk about Nellie. Sweet, independent, sun-loving, and... suspiciously private. She mostly kept to herself, drifting between naps on the balcony and quiet strolls past her food bowl. The hosts had kindly given me a tour and mentioned—casually—that Nellie had a habit. Apparently, she occasionally mistakes guest belongings for litter boxes. Suitcases. Laundry baskets. The occasional unattended shoe. But don’t worry, they said. “Just keep your door closed.”

Simple enough, I thought. My suite was lovely, private, and door firmly shut. What could go wrong?

Well, I got comfortable. Too comfortable.

One afternoon, I left my raincoat on the bench in the front hall. A harmless habit, right? Until I came home and noticed it looked unusually... shiny. It hadn’t rained. It hadn’t even drizzled. I got closer. Took a sniff. You guessed it: Nellie had made a statement.

Straight through the coat and onto the bench.

After two hot water washes and a full sun-drying cycle, I salvaged the jacket. The bench, scrubbed and deodorized, lives on. I forgave her. I mean, she’s got two litter boxes—maybe she just likes variety?

And then, as if to drive the point home, Nellie struck again. This time, it was my collapsible laundry basket—fabric-lined cardboard, perfect for keeping things organized. Apparently also perfect for feline expression. She christened that too. Right on the laundry soap. Into the garbage it went. The basket, not the cat.

But you know what? I still loved my time there.

I transitioned from one Bay to another Bay. Simple, right? Except the names are so alike that I almost drove back to Remy’s house by mistake. From Cadboro Bay to Cordova Bay—it’s as if the nautical naming committee ran out of ideas. However, there’s something I cherish about this wandering lifestyle: I don’t merely pass through these areas and ponder what it’s like to reside there—I actually get to experience it. Cordova Bay boasts history, stunning views, trails, and now, thanks to Nellie the cat, a sense of tranquility. 

Let’s begin with the view. I was curious if the condo would provide one, and wow, did it ever. A wraparound balcony with two exits (yes, Nellie enjoys VIP access around the clock), overlooking not just the ocean and Mount Baker, but also a beautifully maintained golf course. That’s right—each morning, I enjoyed my tea while observing golfers through the binoculars provided. If that view isn’t a sign from the universe to continue my golf lessons, I don’t know what is. 

On that note, I visited the driving range a few times during my stay and realized: I still haven’t returned the borrowed clubs to Sean. I suspect he’s okay with it—after all, the better I become, the easier his job will be this fall when we hopefully resume lessons. 

Now, let’s discuss Nellie. Sweet, independent, sun-loving, and... oddly private. She mostly kept to herself, alternating between naps on the balcony and quiet walks past her food bowl. The hosts kindly gave me a tour and mentioned—nonchalantly—that Nellie had a quirk. Apparently, she sometimes confuses guest belongings for litter boxes. Suitcases. Laundry baskets. The occasional unattended shoe. But don’t worry, they said. “Just keep your door closed.” Sounds easy enough, I thought. 

My suite was charming, private, and the door was securely shut. What could possibly go wrong? Well, I got cozy. Too cozy. One afternoon, I left my raincoat on the bench in the front hall. A harmless habit, right? Until I returned home and noticed it looked unusually... shiny. It hadn’t rained. Not even a drizzle. I approached it. Took a whiff. You guessed it: Nellie had made her mark. Right through the coat and onto the bench. After two hot water washes and a full sun-drying session, I managed to save the jacket. The bench, scrubbed and deodorized, remains intact. I forgave her. I mean, she has two litter boxes—maybe she just enjoys variety? And then, as if to emphasize the lesson, Nellie struck again. 

This time, it was my collapsible laundry basket—fabric-lined cardboard, ideal for keeping things tidy. Apparently also ideal for feline expression. She marked that too. Right on the laundry detergent. Into the trash it went. The basket, not the cat. But you know what? I still cherished my time there.

Amidst nature walks, quaint cafés, indoor workouts, and snug nights with the large television, this pet-sitting experience was among the most soothing I’ve ever had. The residents of the building were friendly (once they realized I wasn’t moving in permanently), and I had the chance to explore the area. 

Upon their return, the hosts even surprised me with a lovely gift—earrings—accompanied by a kind apology note for Nellie’s antics. While it wasn’t required, it was sincerely appreciated. 

This is what I cherish about house and pet sitting. It’s not always glamorous. There are moments when the scent is... less than pleasant. But it’s authentic. It’s significant. Each experience, even the less enjoyable ones, serves as a reminder of why I’ve embraced this way of life. 

Next on my agenda: I’m returning for another visit to Brentwood Bay (yes, yet another Bay—who decides on these names?). I’ll be caring for the familiar little dog named Zara for two weeks this time around. Her owner left prior to my arrival, so I’ll be collecting Zara from a sitter in Sooke and bringing her back home. I’m already acquainted with the house, the dog, and the neighborhood. And I have a feeling Zara won’t mistake my jacket for a restroom. 

Fingers crossed.

Photo: She Looks Innocent Enough