I should have known. Of course my moderately fashionista daughter would not make do with a few coats of paint. No way would she keep her childish curtains decorated with cartoon figures.
But red? Against white walls? And at a window facing due south?
No surprise this morning: The daylight outside filtered through the red tinted the room in that shade that whispers “cat house” in these my old and cynical ears. And she’s fifteen, long-legged and well liked.
Suitors, beware: This is indeed a cathouse. We own a cat. And kitty has no less than five sharp ends when I hold it up in my girls’s defense.