Monday: I’m in the Park crossing the Great Lawn walking gingerly over ice, when I see a young man charging towards me, in shorts no less. I say, hey, be careful, it’s very icy.
If looks could kill, I’d be in Jersey.
Well guess who slid at top speed as if he were stealing Third?
Tuesday: I’m having a bad day. My favorite gold necklace, among other things, is tangled up in blue, to quote Dylan, so I go to the chain smoking, grumpy jeweler down the block to see if he’ll free it from bondage.
He does, with a grunt and a sneer, as tears slide down my face since, it’s the nicest thing that’s happened all day. After asking if I owe him anything, he waves me away. As I leave he asks, framed in smoke, in his thick Israeli accent, “Why do you cry?”
“Cause I’m having a bad day.”
“It will be alright, ” he says, with a grunt and a sneer, a cigarette ash about to fall onto the clock he’s fixing.
That’s all anyone ever wants to hear, even while coughing trapped in a cloud of Camel Non-Filters.
Wednesday: I get a note from Patrick the Cat’s father saying, after his yearly trip to the vet, Patty won’t eat.
Hes very worried. Was wondering if maybe I could invite him over, entice him with a snack.
Only in New York.
So, I of course say yes, even though all I have is a very expensive jar of caviar leftover from this over-the-top Xmas basket (that could have paid my rent) I’ve been saving.
It was 8 a.m. so the thought of fish eggs didn’t quite go with my oatmeal and if Patrick wasn’t in the mood either, then what, I’d waste it.
See, once caviar is opened, like champagne, it goes flat.
Be that as it may, life’s short, and what are pals for anyway.
“Patrick, how bout a little fish to start off the day?” He doesn’t answer. He sits and stares making me wish I had put a little make-up on.
I then open it, placing it on the floor. He walks away.
Shit, I think, disappearing into the kitchen.
When I come back he’s eating like Orson Welles.
“A little milk to wash it down perhaps?” I ask, smiling.
He grunts and sneers.
“I know Patrick, but I’m all outta vodka. 🙂
SB
I’m assuming that the fellow who fell blamed his fall on you for distracting him. After all, it couldn’t be his own fault.
I hope Patrick’s palate isn’t spoiled now or his father might have to sue you for cat support, ha ha! We have a spoiled feral cat with a broken front paw. It took all fall to get her to come into the breezeway to eat. She now sleeps under a heat lamp and prefers canned food to dry. Gimpy is still semi-wild, but completely spoiled. But no caviar yet!
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I love Gimpy. That’s a great story. Love that he sleeps under a heat lamp. Cats are so smart. sigh
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I’m sweating just thinking about the chain. One thing about NYC it’s the city that has everything at its fingertips, including chain untanglers.
As for Patrick, oh he knows the deal. Sounds like Patrick was just tired of Fancy Feast and male company.
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I love Patrick. I don’t tell many people this Top but well, we’re dating. 🙂
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I had a feeling you weren’t serving caviar to any guy that prowled though the door…meow
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You’re my best foil Madam. 🙂
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‘He’s eating like Orson Wells’ made me laugh out loud. I love your blogs. ❤️
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You’re kind, thanks. Patrick is a bit on the portly side. That’s not his photo. I Googled that. I’m sure he’s pleased to look that dapper.
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You worked your lovely magic on Patrick! Caviar, no less! You are over the top, Susannah!
I laughed at Camel non-filters. What a fragrance! The jeweler — kindness comes in all shapes and sizes.
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I think I liked the idea of having a jar more than actually eating it since, it’s an acquired taste one that eludes me a bit still. Just give me salmon instead, any old time. As for Patrick. I think he was a Cat King, in another life.
And the jeweler is a character alright. You leave him your Cartier watch to fix, and he’ll ask for a deposit. I said to him once, but you have my good watch that if I sold, could send me to Paris. No deposit, cough cough. 🙂
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I like cheap caviar, but I’ve never tasted the good stuff.
I laughed about the deposit for a Cartier watch. Your comment would not have occurred to me until the shop closed, and I knew my watch AND deposit were gone.
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He’s a bit of a shyster as they say, so you need to be on the lookout. But he can fix anything. My clock in the kitchen was on life support and he brought it back to life. We like him, even if he smells like a pool hall and tried to lift your wallet. 🙂
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Wow! What a character!
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Yes…he’s right out of a novel.
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I loved the three stories, Susannah. You tried to warn the guy. Oh well, Karma’s a bitch. Can’t imagine unfiltered Camels in this day and age—nice guy to help you through. I’m glad Patrick could see the wisdom of accepting a gift from a gracious giver. I liked your description of the basket too. Behind it, I imagined someone who cared. 😊
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He’s a wealthy fellow I know, and he and his husband send lavish gifts. If it wasn’t so impolite, I’d say…could I have the cash, instead? 🙂
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The last basket I got was in the late 80’s when Welles Rich Greene was one of my ad agencies. Mary Welles always sent something lovely.
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Must have been awfully nice if you still remember it. 🙂
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It was. It had about thirty live blooming tulips (December in Indiana makes live tulips memorable.)
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I love tulips. You forgive Nature all her vagaries when they suddenly appear. 🙂
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Daffodils are like that too. 😁
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Yes, those flutes of stems.
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Back to champagne and caviar.
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I think daffies in an ample crystal bowl so they have lots of elbow room works with C and C. Don’t you???
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Yes. Your use of the word flute caused me to get silly with the C and C. 😊
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Don’t you think they look like yellow flutes? I’m never not fascinated by them. God was really showing off when he made daffodils.
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When I lived up North I had a woods behind the house which had bunches of daffies. All the trees had no leaves and most of the time the snow was more or less melting. Then one morning there they were! What a sight. Bright yellow in that sea of brown. I never tired of that experience.
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There were times this winter that I was all bundled up for my walk and I would see someone in shorts and a tee-shirt running. It would make me shake my head in wonder then I would feel old.
The jeweler is probably a nice guy who thinks it’s a weakness showing it. As for Patrick, I think he just wanted to see his friend so he staged a hunger strike. It was a win-win for both of you.
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Love your Patrick theory. It’s true, now that you mention it, that we were due a visit. Hmm. Hunger strike indeed. 🙂
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I haven’t had caviar since the Russian Tea Room, my kids were still pleasant little creatures who thought I was Superman. So when I introduced them to the stuff, they took to it like PB&J. And I KNOW my daughter would’ve canoodled with Patrick, for sure.
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When I was a young twitty model, I went to the opening of The Caviar Bar in London where waiters stood with buckets filled you could scoop onto your plate with no edit. I remember thinking, why do people like this. It tastes like cat food, as if it was part of my regular diet, and when you’re up and coming and broke, could certainly find its way over rice, so it just might be in every cat’s DNA. Patrick of course, is no dummy, being a cool cat and all, living in ole Noo Yawk. Good morning Mr. Imma. I believe there are a few heroes in my immediate future. 🙂
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My God, you must have been dynamite squared in heels. Straight Outta Connecticut!
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It was like looking at yourself through a fun house mirror, to be quite honest. My gingham clashed with all that leather.
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Huzzah!
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A while back, I read that cats have twenty-seven muscles in each ear, just so they can studiously ignore you from any angle.
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Now that would have been a great, Did You Know, fact.
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I love these stories, Susannah. They are always so eloquent and authentic. You write all living creatures better than almost anyone I’ve read, seriously.
your friend
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You’re such a good Friend. 🙂
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