Housesitting

Bedroom/panic room

Henry and I have split up and moved out of the flat into other residences.

But it's only temporary.

I've gotten an assignment housesitting for a couple working with an American agency now on home and medical leave. They are showing off their new baby daughter but wanted someone to look after their lovely house atop Breka hill and their cats Aida and Cleo. Since that seems like enough cats for one house Henry will spend two week with Sally, the woman who gave him to me.

I have to take taxis to and from the house it's so far from the center of town in the bottom of the valley, but it has a lovely kitchen, a fitness room, a washer-dryer, fabulous art from the couple's previous postings in Asia and Africa, a sun-drenched patio and the best library!

Just one thing is jarring. The bedroom door. It's huge, heavy and metal with two gigantic bolts on top and bottom. Hanging from the door knob is a panic button that when touched calls in a gang of federal guards. The whole house is barred, there's an alarm system, lots of locks and guards cruise the ground day and night.

Until just this year, Bosnia was a danger posting for foreign service employees, I am reminded. Wow and I sleep in my flat with windows open and only one measly lock on the door.

On the other hand, all those bars and locks just seem to scream "AN AMERICAN LIVES HERE, COME GET HIS STUFF!!"