We have a charwoman (not to be confused with chairwoman) in our building. I adore her. Sure, I hate people as a whole and many people as individuals (I’m an old bitter woman, you see), but I do like our charwoman. What I find amazing about her (completely unironically) is that she does her job properly. Hardly anyone does these days.
What makes the charwoman even more likeable is that my cat likes her. The cat always sprints to the door when she hears the charwoman’s bucket and proceeds to sit down in front of the door and stare at the woman at work (through the solid door). I sit next to the cat and wait for the charwoman to depart—so that I could rearrange my doormat back into perfect symmetry, parallel with the threshold.
The charwoman does her (our) cleaning so thoroughly that she always moves everyone’s doormats to clean underneath them (what the hell, even I don’t move my doormat when I clean, and I clean obsessively). So this is for the nameless charwoman of our building, whose work I deeply appreciate.