Poor Redding.  Not only is it tucked away in the northern hemisphere of California; the town is overshadowed by badass cities like Los Angeles, San Diego and Sacramento.  But Redding is a big-little ‘burb with a lot to offer.  Last year I spent exactly six hours in the town for a shoot, so I didn’t get to appreciate its eccentric charm.  Last week, I traipsed all over the city and got a good gauge on what it brings to the table.

For one, if you’re an outdoorsman … Redding is your kinda town.  You couldn’t walk five feet without stumbling across a hiking trail.  Nearby Mount Shasta means you can ski and snowboard to your hearts’ desire.  And if you’re really motivated, the ocean is only a short drive to the left.

Whereas the rest of California is a cultural melting pot, Redding is filled with white folks.  Pasty white folks.  I can only assume they’ve been shipped in from Oregon and/or Washington.  Immigrants, dontchaknow?  One night my crew was ravenous for Indian food.  When I asked the client to make a suggestion, she made a sad face.  Turns out the two Indian restaurants in town closed years ago due to lack of business.  (I assumed that meant Ethiopian food was also out of the question.)

Every town I visit has some sort of smell.  Pittsburg smells like coal and butane.  Colorado Springs smells like pine trees and Pine Sol.  But Redding is devoid of any smell.  There’s not even a faint hint of something … like when you catch the teeniest whiff of cologne or perfume.  I kept breathing deeply … all I got was clean air.  Good for my lungs, but bad for keeping my olfactory senses heightened.

Coffee shops, bait and tackle shops and gift shops run rampant in Redding.  Apparently, all anyone wants to do when they’re not enjoying the great outdoors is get a caffeine fix, a new fishing lure or some sort of present … or all three.  There are plenty of eateries around … so there’s that.  Although I did get quizzed by the waitress at the one high-end steak restaurant in town.  “You’re not from here are you?  I know that because you ordered the expensive bottle of wine,” she lamented.  (It was $38.)

So here’s to you, Redding … with your new fancy-schmancy Sundial Bridge and your pretty mountain vistas.  I’d love to go back and visit from time to time, but then I’d have to learn to kayak or something.

When I travel, my entire crew is a pretty affable bunch.  They are pleasant and polite when warranted – chatting up clients and winning over waitresses.  In Redding, California this week, they were absolutely gushy over – of all things – an orange cat.

When we stumbled in to our hotel, we were greeted by the world’s laziest feline holding court in the lobby.  To be honest, it wasn’t really even a greeting – more like just a casual acknowledgement of our arrival.  We all did a double take … asking the front desk clerk if someone had lost a cat.  “That’s Jack … our lobby cat,” she said.  “He just kinda hangs out here.”  My crew immediately rushed over and started fawning over Jack like they’d never seen a cute, furry animal in their life before.

And Jack was pretty cute – for an oversized ball of fluff.  He looked like orange meringue with fur.

Jack took the attention in stride … feigning ambivalence with a muted, “Mew.”  That’s right … “Mew”.  He was so apathetic; he didn’t even have the energy to utter a full on, “Meow”.   After two minutes of my crew petting him, picking him up and nuzzling him, Jack ambled away and parked his butt near the hotel’s fireplace.

My crew – who were running on fumes from a long day of travel – suddenly had all the energy in the world.  They peppered the clerk with questions.  “WheredidJackcomefrom?  AreyouafraidJackwillescape?  WheredoesJackeat?”, they asked in unison.  The front desk clerk took a cue from Jack’s can’t-be-bothered attitude and responded, “I dunno – he’s always just sorta been here.  And his bed is over there.”  Of course, his bed was an impossibly cute pet carrier shaped like a mini-castle.

I’m not a cat person, but Jack’s lethargy intrigued me.  I would watch with wide-eyed abandon as Jack would have just enough energy to hoist himself up on to the hotel lobby’s counter.  He would then collapse and sprawl out – taking up as much space as possible.  It’s clearly Jack’s world – hotel patrons are just living in it.

Our photographer Penny lost her big orange cat about a week ago.  I think Jack sensed that … because he had a particular affinity for her.  Penny took several pictures of him while we were there.  I think he secretly enjoys the attention, but because rules of Feline-Dom state cats must look disinterested at all times, Jack was holding up his end of the bargain.

I wish I could go through life completely unbothered by anyone or anything.  I think I may take a few cues from Jack, the lobby cat.