Maybe it’s that you need to take an old-school elevator to the very top to get there. Maybe it’s the name “Cloud Room,” that elegant, rainy Northwest imagery. Maybe it’s piano man Martin Ross, who’s been playing barfly favorites for eight years running. Maybe it’s the fabulous view of the Roosevelt, the Sheraton, Gameworks, and Tower 801 Apartments. Maybe it’s the cherry wood decor, comfy straight-backed chairs, bad flowered tapestry, and romantic oil lamps on each table. Maybe it’s that they serve cheesecake and chocolate mousse. Maybe it’s the availability of a B-52, hot toddy, or Irish coffee on a freezing cold Seattle night. Maybe it’s the bowls of snack mix on the horseshoe bar, brass foot rails, or napkins that match the room’s color scheme. Maybe it’s the fabulous terrace underneath the exit-sign green Camlin lettering that reminds me of the finale in Ghostbusters. Maybe it’s the perfectly dim lighting. Maybe it’s that you can request “Moondance,” “Bad Bad Leroy Brown,” or “Roxanne” and tipsily sing along. Maybe it’s that the room itself is perched on top of the vintage 73-year-old Camlin Hotel. Maybe it’s that if you get too wasted you can always pay the $118 a night and crash in one of the elegant European-style rooms. Maybe it’s being able to sneak into the adjacent Panorama room with smashing views of Lake Union and the Space Needle, and get it on on top of one of the cushy benches. Maybe it’s being able to fire up a spleefer on the outside patio and look out over the ants marching below. Maybe it’s that the property is for sale, and one day soon they’ll tear the lid off this gem and build a pre-fab monstrosity in its place. Whatever the reason, you’d better get up there soon, before the clouds clear permanently, and this lounge is gone, gone, gone.

The Cloud Room, top of the Camlin Hotel, 1619 Ninth.