We meet up during times of half-light, me rising with the dawn, she only stirring when the lengthening shadows merge into a single cloak of darkness. Only then, when the full moon on the lake provides the only light, does she feel safe enough to come out from her hiding places. She is not enjoying her trip to the lake place.
As darkness descends, she emerges to do all the normal cat things - eat, drink, explore, express a keen interest in finding a way out that door. Her use of the cottage litter box is a highlight reel in toilet etiquette. We thought by now she would have become more comfortable, but instead it appears that she will spend her days in hiding until it's time for us to tranquilizer her for the 1100 km road trip back home.
It's such a shame that she won't get to have fun with all the birds and bats, the snakes and chipmunks, that call this place home. Less of a shame that she won't encounter the giant fox and its mini-me counterpart that have been meandering through.
Perhaps cat psychotherapy will be required before next summer.