I just got off the PATH train at the 34 Street station in Manhattan. It was the first week of December, and the air was chilly. Not frigid but cold enough to make you want to bundle up with gloves and a scarf. I was heading east on 34th Street to my girlfriend’s apartment on 36th Street between 2nd and 3rd Avenue. I was caring for my girlfriend’s cat while she was in Los Angeles for work. We had just started dating about a month earlier. I lived in New Jersey at the time.

 

As expected, the streets were crowded with holiday shoppers and tourists. As I walked past the Empire State Building, I realized that “there are millions of people here, but I’m all alone.” I had just come from my empty apartment and was going to another one. I was missing Jill.

 

Her job and apartment were in the city. She was asked to temporarily run the LA office until they found a new manager for the West Coast. This meant she had to go to California for at least two weeks and possibly longer. Among her initial concerns were: how long will I be away? Will they ask me to move permanently? And who’s going to take care of my cat? I told her I would help. I admit I thought I could score points as a good boyfriend, but I was also a little nervous. I was doomed if anything happened to the cat while she was away. She was a rescue kitten and was afraid of people, except for my girlfriend. Jill assured me I would never see the cat when I stopped in. “Make sure you fill her food and her water bowl. She’ll hide when you come in, but she’ll eat after you leave.”  Sure enough, that’s what happened on my first two visits. I never saw the cat when I came to put out her food and water. 

 

Things changed on my third visit. I picked up a turkey sandwich on my way in, and after I put out the cat’s food and water, I sat down to eat. Suddenly, Trixie, the cat, showed up. I took a piece of turkey and held it toward her. At first, she approached cautiously, but she eventually walked up to me and ate from my hand. After that, Trixie would sit next to me on the couch while I watched tv, often resting in my lap, and even hopped into the bed on the nights I stayed over.

 

You can’t imagine the look of surprise when Jill came home and walked into the apartment to see Trixie sitting on my lap as we watched TV. Her disbelief was genuine. I told her she even jumped into bed at night as I slept. “That's what she always does with me,” Jill said. “The poor thing. She must’ve been confused.”

 

Jill ultimately spent six weeks in LA but made it home for the holidays. We spent Christmas in her apartment that year, and she even cooked a turkey. No minor Christmas miracle, considering how tiny that kitchen was and the fact that it was the first time she used the oven! I finished “Home To Me” and played it for Jill. It was our first Christmas together. And it remains a special memory.