By Molly MacDonald
And once again, I have returned from a trip to Los Angeles with no misadventures to write about. In my last column, you may recall, I told of flying to California for grandson Dylan’s First Communion with nary a glitch to moan about. Previous trips have included dealing with losing my wallet and thus flying with no identification (that happened twice, resulting in my becoming Best Friends Forever with a raft of TSA agents); missing my flight because I was engrossed in the New York Times crossword puzzle and didn’t hear the boarding call; leaving my carry-on bag in the airport gift shop; having another suitcase disappear in the LAX terminal for an hour and being unable to call anyone to report my whereabouts because my cell phone chose that moment to become deceased. There were other mishaps which I have mercifully blocked from my memory.
Last week’s trip was for newest grandson Vincent’s baptism. I think I see a pattern here: if the trip is for a religious occasion, I fly glitch-free. Now all I have to do is come up with some church-related ceremony every time I fly somewhere and apparently my guardian angel will kick into full protective mode and smooth the way for me. There are no more California trips on the immediate horizon, so I’ll have time to think up something spiritual to attach to my next foray into the friendly skies. It will have to be a real deal because I don’t think fooling one’s guardian angel is an acceptable activity.
The hardest part of going away for a few days is leaving Seamus, my German Shepherd companion. Three years ago, at age seven, he was abandoned in Texas, shipped to a shelter in Clear Lake and from there, came to live with me. He really loves me and has been my constant shadow ever since, clinging to me like velcro. I guess that’s a bit redundant, since shadows necessarily cling without the help of velcro.
Whatever.
Be assured, he’s well taken care of while I’m gone, but nevertheless, he is always hurt and grieved when I reclaim him, letting me know my absence is unacceptable. It takes a full day and lots of treats and walks for me to get back in his good graces.
The stray cats that I feed – namely Christopher Robin, Fiona, The Phantom and Goldilocks – also miss me a lot. Okay, I realize it’s not me they miss so much as the meals I put out for them. Christopher Robin is the only one who makes himself known, camping on the porch until I bring out the food and demanding a second and third helping. The other three are much more skittish and flee if they catch sight of me.
I ran out of cat food the other day, it was too late to go to the store, so I chopped up some slices of Spam for them. I know, everyone makes fun of Spam, but I like it, especially when I take the time to sauté it. I didn’t sauté it for the cats and, consequently, they all turned up their noses at it, nibbling on only a few pieces and then heading out for more sophisticated fare.
Sigh.
Good thing my feelings aren’t easily hurt.