Every August, my wife goes to Pennsylvania to spend a week at family camp with her brother and sister and their families. It would be fun to hang with the nephews and nieces for a whole week, and I would be happy to do it--in a hotel someplace, with cable, and air conditioning, and a bar downstairs. I do not camp. I have tried it, I do not like it, and I have no intention of doing it ever again.
If my wife were here right now, she would chime in that they are not really "camping." They are sleeping in dorms, not tents, and they're eating in a cafeteria, not cooking over open fires. And I would respond that because they're sharing bathrooms and showers with other campers and there's neither cell-phone coverage nor Wi-Fi access up there in the mountains, the fact that there are no tents or cooking fires is merely a subsidiary problem.
So this week, I am Home Alone. What this means, mainly, is that I cook things she won't eat and rent movies she won't like. What's different about this year is that I have no cat at home to keep me company. Sophie passed a couple of months ago at age 20, and we are presently catless. Once my wife gets back to civilization, we will start the process of finding a new cat for our home. Unless she brings me back a souvenir raccoon.