Yeah, lost another friend and this time, it wasn't because of their support for Trump. I hope it isn't permanent but Lydia isn't speaking to me.
Lydia is one of the two feral cats I feed in my backyard. In the above photo of them staking out my their chaise lounge out there, Sylvia is the one at the top…and since she showed up here many moons ago, Sylvia has always looked at me with pretty much that expression. Grumpy Cat should pay royalties to Sylvia for appropriating her look. No matter what or how much I feed her, she pretty much replicates my reaction when someone puts cole slaw before me. That frown, I'm used to.
But the pussycat below her, Lydia, used to like me…or so I thought. Maybe she was just faking it to get the Mixed Grill, I don't know. She's been out there for at least ten years, which is way beyond the average life span of a stray cat in the city. Some of you may remember that back in 2008 — as chronicled here through a series of posts on this blog — I trapped her and took her in for a kitty abortion and further preventive surgery. After that, I thought she'd never speak to me again but that was a minor offense compared to what I did last week to piss her off.
I have this great, talented friend named Brad Ellis. Brad is a brilliant musician and you heard how brilliant if you ever watched the TV show, Glee. He arranged an awful lot of the music for that show and was involved in its playing…and he even played on-camera. He was the never-speaking rehearsal pianist on the program whenever one of the kids had to sing something with a rehearsal pianist. He's been on other shows and he's always off working the piano with some symphony orchestra or celebrity. I think he's somewhere playing for Jane Lynch this weekend. Here's a bio of him which needs updating.
We sometimes write songs together and when we do, they feel to me like those legendary collaborations between Gomer Pyle and George Gershwin. I'll let you figure out which of us is which in that comparison.
So last week, Brad drops by for the afternoon and he brings along Ace. Here's a picture of Brad and Ace…
Brad is the one in the cap and glasses. Anyway, I decided that while Brad and I talked, Ace might be more comfy in my backyard so we put him out there. In so doing, I momentarily forgot that it is actually not my backyard. It's Lydia's and boy, was she pissed. I have never gotten a look like that from a human being and God knows, I've done many things that deserved it.
Quickly realizing my error, I immediately brought Ace back inside but the damage was done and I am not to be forgiven. Lydia was so upset with me that for the first and probably last time in more than a decade, she actually spoke to me. In a voice rich in indignation, she said, "What the f*ck is that dog doing in my yard?" She uttered the word "dog" with particular distaste. And then she fled her yard as she does whenever I thoughtlessly allow my gardener to garden back there.
She returned hours later after Ace was off the premises and she ate an entire can of Friskies Salmon that I put out for her…but without so much as a glance in my direction. And of course, she hasn't said a word to me. I continue to put out chow and I keep adding in extra treats to apologize…but I am, you'll excuse the phrase, in the dog house. I still hope to win back her trust.
From the outrage in her whiskers, I'd almost think she reads this blog and is furious at me for the anti-Trump material I post. But I know she didn't vote for that man. Lydia is way too smart for that.