As you know, I have friends named Chris and Lilly, whom I met through this blog. I met them back before I was guarded about people I meet here. I’m sorry, but sometimes it gets weird here, y’all.
Anyway, it was back when I wasn’t guarded, circa 2011. I was newly separated, and perhaps open to new experiences, and they wrote me. “We live nearby and love your blog. We have a place in the country. If you aren’t scared to do so, come by because we have baby chicks.”
I was there before they even pressed Send. And honest to god, that is how we became friends, which if you think about it is dangerous. The whole thing is sort of weird, but we had no awkwardness for even a moment and they failed to kill me even though we were way out in the country and there were a million places to dispose of me.
So anyway they’re out there living my life, the life I’d have if I knew how to, for example, raise baby chicks. They now own two stores—a nursery and a feed store—and they have two kids who are wholesome-looking.
Many decades ago I had this coworker “friend” who turned out to be kind of a dink. But at the time I enjoyed her company and hung around her a lot. She was befreckled and wide-eyed and pretty and had straight hair. I had this artist boyfriend who was hot, and I always felt insecure around him because frankly he was better-looking than I was.
“Don’t you find my friend Dink to be really beautiful?” I asked insecurely. That was before I knew about anxious attachment.
“No,” he said, “not really. She looks too wholesome, like she should always be carrying a lamb and drinking a glass of milk.”
Too wholesome. Like I was Nancy Spungen, over there.
Anyway, Chris and Lilly’s kids look wholesome and for all I know they’ve literally held lambs and they certainly drink milk. They know way more about horses than I do and they are only somewhere between 2 and 15.
My point is this: The other day Lilly texted me. She was at work and heard some rustling in some hay. Or straw. Is there a difference? When I go to work, back when I went to work, I never encountered hay.
She went to investigate, and right there is the difference between Lilly and me. Well. That and she once got a pony for Christmas. I’d have run screaming for the hills had I heard RUSTLING in my work hay. My first instinct would be snake. Snake with an attitude. Nancy Spungen I am not.
But Lilly is no-nonsense, part of my no-nonsense friends collection. Collect all three!
She went over there and immediately texted me, because
it was a mom cat and three kittens.
She and Chris kept me apprised, and it took many days of humane traps and photos of angry mom cat looking like she wanted to speak to the manager. She is straight-up feral and did not appreciate any of this.
Chris and Lilly just lost one of their barn cats, who was like 109, so I know they planned to keep one of the cats. The mom just never warmed up, so they gave her to a nearby shelter that deals with ferals and finds barn homes for them after they’ve been rehabilitated and learned the 12 steps or something.
“What about the kittens? Did they ever calm down?” I asked, riveted to any situation that involves cat things.
This was my answer.
Goddammit. Is that a …?
COME ON! That’s a Siamese kitten! How did they go out to their work hay and find
Even the black one, your run-of-the-mill black kitten, is spectacular. Look how pretty its COAT is.
They finally caught the third one and it too is black and I really don’t know what will happen next, except they’ve named two of them (Midge Maisel and Betty Draper).
Also, Corona schmorona. I am dying to go meet them and possibly slip a Siamese into my purse when I go.