Holed up in this hole of a hotel all day has allowed me to transcend my normal, everyday sort of asocial behavior and arrive at a point of pure misanthropy. There’s nothing like one angry night in a strange bed with three anxious cats to get the old eyeball a-twitching.

After spending all day yesterday reading the great ethical thinker Levinas, I arrived home to a blast of hot air and panting cats languishing on the hardwood floors. Sometime during the 100-degree heat of the day, the air conditioner konked out. The thermostat was at 93 at 6:30 pm.

After the requisite call to the landlord and a quick packing of overnight necessities, and nearly a 30-minute drive, we checked in to the Marriott Courtyard on the other end of town with three cats and all their supplies, including a litter box, in tow.

Here is the official policy: “For the convenience of other guests and in an effort to help us provide the cleanest and most sanitary accommodation available, pets are not permitted.”

Are you serious! After seeing what passes itself off as the American family over the overpriced and utterly tasteless breakfast this morning, my flatulent and flea-ridden cats are the least of Marriott’s worries when it comes to keeping the rooms clean or inconveniencing their guests.

Stringy-haired Susie in her stretch-fabric tank top and her little bucked-toothed brother Billy returned no less than four times to the breakfast buffet to fill up on food not fit for a dog. I couldn’t even finish the tiny lemon poppy seed micro-muffin because of its epoxy-like consistency.

To worsen my own antisocial nature, I spent almost three hours after breakfast this morning watching “Mega Catastrophes” (or some such series) on the History Channel. If it wasn’t a flood of biblical proportions, then certainly the “hypercane”–a souped-up version of our meager hurricanes–was going to destroy life as we know it. Thankfully Obama’s rather uninspired and history-laden speech brought me back from hypothetical destructions to those most likely to occur in my lifetime.

Otherwise, I would’ve actually thrown open the sliding glass door this afternoon and shouted, “All of you ugly people, get out of my pool!” Instead, I just joked about it. The humor lies in the fact that for me there really is so little difference between joking about it and actually doing it. I’m never going to see these people again. Unless later this summer the AC loses its will to go on again. But if that happens, I’m finding some other place to stay. One that doesn’t nickel-and-dime their “guests” for every sip of coffee, every drop of syrup. That doesn’t have a pet-free policy.

To break even on this deal, I’ve decided I need to steal something when I check out tomorrow. I thought about emptying the litter box across the carpet, but that would only “punish” the lowly, low-paid Hispanic housekeeper. The arm chairs seem kind of nice. And Malika, the newest addition to our feline family, enjoys scratching at them. I’m sure I can find use for something that’s not bolted down in here….

Holed up in this hole of a hotel all day has allowed me to transcend my normal, everyday sort of asocial behavior and arrive at a point of pure misanthropy. There’s nothing like one angry night in a strange bed with three anxious cats to get the old eyeball a-twitching.

After spending all day yesterday reading the great ethical thinker Levinas, I arrived home to a blast of hot air and panting cats languishing on the hardwood floors. Sometime during the 100-degree heat of the day, the air conditioner konked out. The thermostat was at 93 at 6:30 pm.

After the requisite call to the landlord and a quick packing of overnight necessities, and nearly a 30-minute drive, we checked in to the Marriott Courtyard on the other end of town with three cats and all their supplies, including a litter box, in tow.

Here is the official policy: “For the convenience of other guests and in an effort to help us provide the cleanest and most sanitary accommodation available, pets are not permitted.”

Are you serious! After seeing what passes itself off as the American family over the overpriced and utterly tasteless breakfast this morning, my flatulent and flea-ridden cats are the least of Marriott’s worries when it comes to keeping the rooms clean or inconveniencing their guests.

Stringy-haired Susie in her stretch-fabric tank top and her little bucked-toothed brother Billy returned no less than four times to the breakfast buffet to fill up on food not fit for a dog. I couldn’t even finish the tiny lemon poppy seed micro-muffin because of its epoxy-like consistency.

To worsen my own antisocial nature, I spent almost three hours after breakfast this morning watching “Mega Catastrophes” (or some such series) on the History Channel. If it wasn’t a flood of biblical proportions, then certainly the “hypercane”–a souped-up version of our meager hurricanes–was going to destroy life as we know it. Thankfully Obama’s rather uninspired and history-laden speech brought me back from hypothetical destructions to those most likely to occur in my lifetime.

Otherwise, I would’ve actually thrown open the sliding glass door this afternoon and shouted, “All of you ugly people, get out of my pool!” Instead, I just joked about it. The humor lies in the fact that for me there really is so little difference between joking about it and actually doing it. I’m never going to see these people again. Unless later this summer the AC loses its will to go on again. But if that happens, I’m finding some other place to stay. One that doesn’t nickel-and-dime their “guests” for every sip of coffee, every drop of syrup. That doesn’t have a pet-free policy.

To break even on this deal, I’ve decided I need to steal something when I check out tomorrow. I thought about emptying the litter box across the carpet, but that would only “punish” the lowly, low-paid Hispanic housekeeper. The arm chairs seem kind of nice. And Malika, the newest addition to our feline family, enjoys scratching at them. I’m sure I can find use for something that’s not bolted down in here….