I know I said I got a dog for Elvis and I did. But I got it for me too.

When I first brought Raymond home he , like his brother, Elvis, acted like butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth.

Let me tell you this, after living here for 3 days I’ve found out that it would. Another thing that would melt in his mouth is the parmesan cheese that was in my bag of groceries that I carelessly  left by the door.

It’s still usable though. I’ll put it out for cocktails and say that really good parmesan cheese frequently has what appears like (but isn’t) tooth marks.

Here’s another unbearable thing about Ray. HE ADORES DAVID.

This morning I was taking him out and he ran to David and Liz’ door and started crying. He only met them last night. What’s the big draw?

It’s not like David is even nice to him. He calls him Colonel Parker, not Raymond because he thinks it goes better with Elvis. How is this fair? Did David save him from the chair? Does David sleep sideways in his bed so Ray can stretch out? I think you all  know the answer to that.

Speaking of Elvis, he’s sleep deprived because he has to make sure that Ray doesn’t touch any of his stuff. Sometimes I see him sitting up with his eyes closed.

Back to David and Ray. To add insult to injury, when David isn’t there Ray sits in his chair.

You all know how I have been trying to decide whether to get another cat to keep Elvis company.

I’ve been back and forth on this. I feel that Elvis is bored. He needs someone of his own.

That is why I am announcing now that I have gotten Elvis a dog.

He is an 11 year old boston terrier who was on death row. He had no time left so I spoke to Elvis.

“Look E, I know this isn’t perfect. He can’t meow and leap as beautifully as you but he’s company and because we are saving him he should be grateful and do what you tell him to.”

I think he nodded

He was rescued by my niece Julie. She brought him home but her dogs attacked him so I took him to my house.  I call him “Him” because I’m having a bit of trouble choosing a name.

I originally decided on Raymond but one of my doormen is named Raymond and I think he may not like that.

I was thinking of Jake but it doesn’t sit well, neither does Dylan, even though he’s my next favorite singer.

My nephew Brian, who has given horrible names to every animal in the family,has chosen Charney who were friends that my parents insisted on inviting whenever we visited them in Florida.

The truth is that whatever I name him, Brian will call him Charney because he’s very persistent and continues to call my sister’s dog Sally, Meriweather because that’s the name he had chosen for her.

I kind of like Larry but I keep going back to Ray. I guess Raymond is it. I can call him Charney whenever I’m around my doorman.

Let me tell you a few things about Ray. He’s housebroken, he’s sweet,he sleeps under the covers and he gives Elvis a wide  berth so there is no possibility of conflict.

Elvis, on the other hand, seems to love him. He stares at him all the time and keeps going closer and closer to him, something that Ray tries very hard to ignore.

Even though I’ve had him for 2 days I wasn’t going to say anything in case I panicked which was very likely. I am after all crazy and I don’t know how to not let an animal take over my life but the choice is no longer mine. He’s my dog as well as Elvis’. So as soon as the rescue people say it’s okay his last name will be Matthews

Well I’m almost ready to leave Elvis alone overnight again since I’m going to Montauk.

I have arranged for my super’s son to come in tonight and tomorrow morning. After I spoke to him yesterday, his name is Anthony, and he’s the sweetest kid I ever met, he comforted me by saying he wouldn’t just feed Elvis, he’d hang with him.

Elvis being very social will appreciate that.

To show my gratitude I assured Anthony that if he wants to bring his girlfriend with him and smoke pot and drink that would be A-OK with me.

I’m sure he won’t be having sex because he’s 17 and that’s way too young to think about that.

I slept easy last night knowing that I had set up everything to perfection. Even if Anthony lets me down, which he won’t, I’ve left enough food and water around for a week.

I had the feeling that Elvis knew I was leaving though. He’s been giving me the side eye all morning and now he’s pretending to be asleep but I know he’s just planning a way to fuck up my trip. He’ll vomit or say “Meow” or something.

I just can’t get a break.

The other day I went to the memorial service for Liz’s father, Dr. Thomas Rees M.D.

Dr Tom was a force to be reckoned with. He was not only a brilliant plastic surgeon to regular people, really famous celebrities and politicians but as a young man he was in Africa on vacation, helped a Masai Warrior who was gored by a rhino and with two friends started the Flying Doctors bringing medical care to people who had never seen a doctor.

As a result of that the charity, AMREF exists today carrying on that wonderful work. It was truly inspiring hearing speakers who had been close to him and his wife, Nan, talk about how impressive he was as a man. I should add that Dr Tom and I were thick as thieves. He even slept at my house.

But that’s not what I want to talk about. I want to discuss the Metropolitan Club where the memorial took place.

When you go to their website and click on “History”, the story starts with:
On the evening of February 20, 1891, a group of distinguished gentlemen, prominent in the civic, commercial, financial, and social life of the City gathered together for an important purpose at the invitation of William Watts Sherman at the Knickerbocker Club – then at 319 Fifth Avenue, the northeast corner of 32nd Street. At this dinner were present Messrs. Samuel D. Babcock, George S. Bowdoin, Robert Goelet, George G. Haven, H. A. C. Tylor, William K. Vanderbilt, and William C. Whitney.

After dinner they were joined by Messrs. John L. Cadwalader, Charles Lanier, Cornelius Vanderbilt, James M. Waterbury, and proxies were on hand from the Messrs. Ogden Goelet, Louis L. Lorillard, J. Pierpont Morgan, James A. Roosevelt and Frank K. Sturgis. A meeting ensued at which the Articles of Affiliation were signed and the first officers duly elected, and The Metropolitan Club was formed – with J. Pierpont Morgan becoming the first President.

See any Goldbergs there?. No.

Which is why I spent a great deal of time selecting my outfit for this. Since I knew I’d have to “represent” I threw on my mother’s diamond earrings and other stuff thinking that they were sure to impress.

I’m going to go off on a bit of a tangent here. During my songwriting days, my co writer, Terry Silverlight and I wrote several what I thought were really good country songs. We sent them out to a load of Nashville people and nothing happened . The only singers who bought and recorded them were Japanese.

Then I started thinking that when I watch English TV shows that have an Englishman playing an American, it never sounds quite right which is probably why Travis Tritt didn’t like “The Girl In My Song” or “Last Call”

What I’m trying to say is that at that fancy ass club I was the only one dripping in diamonds and those women were really rich.

What that place lacked in jewelry it made up in snazz. Now this surprised me because through Liz I’ve been exposed to a lot of high toned places and was always surprised at how crappy they were.

When Liz took me to the beach club in Quogue I was shocked that it looked like the rec room in Camp Highmount whereas my parents beach club had fountains and sconces up the ass.

Not so this place. My man J.Pierpont knew how to load on the glitz. Except for when my nephew Matt took me to the White House I never saw a more ornate and beautiful setting and  the White House paled next to this.

I’m thinking that if Julie decides to give Violet a Bat Mitzvah, this might be  a nice place to plan the shindig after the service at the shul.

Of course you have to know someone who’s a member but that shouldn’t be a problem. I took names the other day and sidled up to a few of them  bigwigs and made their acquaintance. I’m thinking that when I call them on the horn and invite them to put on the feedbag ON ME they’ll be sure to grease the path to my family throwing a little business their way.

After all “Money Talks” as they say.

I so envy people that can just enjoy their pets.

I remember when I was a little girl and I had a basset hound named Jenny.  I was about 8 or 9. If jenny was sleeping in the room I was in, even if I had to go to the bathroom,  I waited until she woke up naturally because I knew if I got up she’d feel that she had to wake up and follow me.

I’ve written about this before but I think it bears repeating. My niece Stephanie and I were driving to Montauk and there was a woman in the next car trying to drive with her head all the way forward because her cat was laying on the back of her neck. Steph said “If you had a cat, that would be you.”

It’s these many years later and when I decided that I wanted a pet, forgetting Stephanie’s dire warning, I weighed all my options before making my choice.

I knew that a dog would take over my life. I wouldn’t want to leave him alone so my new found freedom would be jeopardized. Remember how I felt tortured when I left Liz’s dog Rupert alone and mostly I didn’t. That is why I decided on a cat. They are independent and don’t mind being left for short periods.

What I didn’t take into consideration is how crazy I am.

My home looks like cat Disneyland with toys, castles and little fake mice everywhere. I watch Elvis constantly worried that he’s bored or lonely which keeps me from leaving my house for any length of time.

I realized that I could never go away for even a weekend with someone only coming in once or twice a day to feed him so I asked my doorman if he would stay in my apartment if I had to go away which is a distinct possibility because as you know I’ve just been hired by Yahoo Travel to write about, shall we say, MY TRAVELS!!!!

Now my latest nightmare, my terrace. I have a terrace with about a 3 or 4 foot high brick wall and about another 4 feet of iron fence above it. Now that the weather is nice I sometimes sit out there. When I did this Elvis sat at the door watching me and last week I decided to let him out. Liz’s cat Puss used to go out on her terrace all the time.

Mostly Elvis walked around looking at stuff and then he’d find a shady spot and just curl up. When I’d go inside he’d usually follow me a short while later.

The other day I saw him walking on the brick wall, outside the fence (the fence has bars spaced far enough so that he can move back and forth easily). My heart stopped. I forced myself to stand there quietly so as to not startle him. He looked over the side, walked a short distance and came back onto the terrace.

That was it for me. No more going on the terrace for him. Then I started thinking about quality of life.

When people have outdoor cats they risk predators and cars and all kinds of things but they let the cats out anyway. Elvis spends a good part of his day looking out onto the terrace, either in front of the glass door or on the window sill.

Last night Julie was here and saw Elvis walking on the wall. She froze and said “You can’t let him out again” she added something about the damage I did to her heart to have her watch him do that wall thing.

I know she’s right. I’ll try to keep him inside but it will break my heart to watch him look longingly at the outside world. Remember I said I was crazy.

The truth is I just don’t know what to do. I know I’m opening myself up for a million horror cat/terrace stories but please don’t. They will only make me crazier.

I don’t know if people that read my blog read the comments. I obviously read every one.

After my last post I received the following from one of my readers:

I know that when it comes to animals I am crazy.

Remember I used to make excuses not to go places because I didn’t want to leave my neighbor’s dog alone.

So because I am aware of that trait in me when it came to getting a pet I knew a dog was out of the question. I would have to choose something independent and aloof so I could still enjoy a life of freedom but have some sort of companionship when I got home. After all dave did get himself a slut. I deserve something too.

Getting a cat was a no brainer, hence Elvis entered my life.

I never owned a cat so I knew nothing firsthand about them but I had heard plenty.

They can be indifferent. They are simply won’t give you what a dog can give you. etc etc. You can leave a cat alone for a weekend at a time.As long as they have food, water and clean litter they won’t care at all.

Since I am renting my house in Montauk as of next weekend I had to go out to make sure it was tenant ready. I decided that I would only go for one night since this would be the first time I was leaving Elvis alone. I had asked David and his son Graham if they could care for him but they were both going to Connecticut.

Still I was determined to live my life and never let an animal control me again so I prepared the house with bowls of wet and dry food, water and scattered treats. I left the TV on for company and with a heavy heart I went on my way.

I probably would have left Montauk the next morning at 6 a.m. but Julie was doing a reading way out on the island and I had promised to pick her up on the way back to the City which I did. Actually I was already letting her down because when she originally booked this I had told her I’d go with her.

We were driving home and Julie, being as sweet as she is, said “When we get back to town I’ll take the train to my house because there will be a lot of traffic”. Normally I would not have permitted this but I was anxious to get to my cat so I said okay.

When I opened my apartment door Elvis was right inside and he was crying.( Is “meow meow” crying?)

He was rubbing all up against me and saying that meow thing.

I immediately realized “Why would I think my cat would be like every other cat?” Haven’t I noticed his clingy tendencies? He follows me from room to room. He sleeps in my bed. He sits in front of my computer when I write. Even now I am peering around him to see the screen.

Woe is me. I can never leave the house again. OOOOOYYYYY!

By the way I had a big fight with David last night because he didn’t go to Connecticut after all and he never looked in at Elvis. I was determined never to speak to him again until I spoke to Liz  and she asked me why I would blame a snake for being a snake. She said it would never occur to David to look in at Elvis since 1. He doesn’t care about Elvis and 2. He doesn’t care about Elvis.

I must say she’s right. Now I’m going to have to apologize to David for screaming at him.

This day couldn’t get any worse.

My niece Julie and I take advantage of any opportunity to be together.

Last night her daughter had plans with a friend so Julie and I met for dinner. I took the bus over to her part of town since we had to pick up the kid after her play date.

Where to eat? Where to eat? We walked up  Amsterdam Avenue trying to decide. Julie suggested Sarabeth’s. “Nah” I said. “Too snooty”. I could go on and on but I’ll just say we finally settled on a restaurant, kinda like a burger/ sushi place. (Note to self: If they can’t decide whether their burgers or their raw fish are their signature dishes, they are lacking in culinary direction and should be passed on)

The good part about this place was that drinks were $5. I had the artichoke and the salmon, Julie had a salad and a burger. She also had a puss on all during the meal. the salad was little and the burger that was supposed to be the restaurant’s piece de resistance was lacking in size and flavor. When I saw her long face I asked what I could do to make it better. “I’m still hungry”. Now she’s a skinny drink of water so I didn’t take this lightly. I ordered her some fried shrimp.

She did eat them but that smile that I live for never returned to her pretty face. She didn’t get any happier when we passed people eating at the outside tables of Sarabeth’s and I mentioned that the food looked way better than the crap that we ate.

This morning when I spoke to my sister, Marcia, Julie’s mother, the first thing she said was “I hear you and Julie had a bad meal last night”.

It is at this point I will move from the secular to the sacred. If you learn this you will know everything you need to know about religion,

Jews remember and resent every bad meal they’ve ever eaten.

I can only give you examples from my own family.

First, the “Day of the Jelly Sandwiches”, named after the time they boiled a man all night in the book “Shogun” and called it the “Night of the Screams”. It was when my sister Iris took me out on her boat when I was about 11 and the lunch she packed was jelly sandwiches on packaged rye bread, not peanut butter and jelly or cream cheese and jelly, but just JELLY. I know it was a Tuesday because I remember crying out to her in dismay “You know I always take a hot lunch on Tuesday!”.

I have to pull myself together, I’m getting all upset again. I hate reliving that because I love my sister Iris and I want to remember the good things about her rather than dwelling on that dark day.

Then there’s the time dave and I took my niece Stephanie out for a Japanese meal that she considered below par and as we dropped her off at Grand Central Station, she turned to dave and said “Thanks for the slim pickin’s ”

The land of Japan has cause my family no end of  bitterness. Another time dave, who was always very generous to my family, took Julie out to a really fancy Japanese restaurant that cost a bundle. She was a teenager and not that adventurous an eater so she was forced to tell her uncle that she couldn’t see her way clear in giving him credit for a dinner out because it stunk.

Even this morning my sister, when reminding me of Julie’s disappointment last night was forced to tell me for the 400th time about the time she didn’t fill up on the soup served at a friends house because she considered it an introduction to the main dish but almost cried when she was offered dessert and coffee as her next course.

“Oh the humanity!!!”

Am I getting too intellectual? I know you don’t expect to learn stuff when you read my writings but I can’t keep my brain quiet.

If I can leave you with one thought let it be:

If you should invite me to dinner serve pie in some form and you won’t have to be talked about the next day.

Last night Liz’s childhood friend, Andrea was visiting with David.

This morning David told me that while she was there the people from the third apartment on the floor came over and invited all of us to a party that they were having the next night, tonight.

David said he wasn’t anxious to go but he might stop by for a drink “to be neighborly” and to ” spread his charm”. I said I had no interest in going mainly because the only contact I’ve ever have with the wife is when she runs screaming down the hall every time she sees me carrying Elvis over to David’s.

That pretty much tabled it until Andrea sent an email to me and David “Anybody feel like going to that party?”

David answered “WTF sure”

I wrote back that I’d be uncomfortable going because they never invited me personally. Andrea wrote back “They definitely did. I saw them knocking on your door but you weren’t home. Anyway they clearly invited me and I’m bringing my two friends.”

My response “I don’t know if I’m going but come on over and you, me and David will have cocktails and we can decide then”

“Okay but if we’ll have to bring wine or something so I can pick it up on my way over”

“Don’t bother, I must have some third rate vino we can bring.” (I’m getting pretty attractive as a guest now huh?)

Then David chimes in that we can’t bring cheap wine because it reflects on him. Like the fact that he calls them Amish when they’re french doesn’t.

There were 6 or 7 more emails on the subject but then we settled on getting together at 6:30.

A little later David called and said he was going to Home Depot, did I want to come with him. I had mentioned earlier that I’d like to go.

“I don’t think so. I was going to take a shower.”

“They aren’t mutually exclusive you know. You could do both”

“Okay I’ll come”

I know this is really boring but hang in there.

At Home Depot I noticed that he was buying  lots of heavy things. “Why didn’t you say you were getting all that. We could have brought a cart.”

“Why do you think I asked you to come with me”

We lug all his shit home and as we get off the elevator at our floor we see the woman from the party apartment and we give her a very friendly wave.

She walks over and says “I hope my husband told you. We’re having some friends over tonight and I hope we don’t disturb you.”

“No problem, no problem” we both mumble and close David’s door behind us.

We just stared at each other thinking of their faces when the three of us walked into their sit down dinner, wine in hand, all dressed up.

And just to show that there was no miscommunication, after waiting for our neighbor to go inside I slunk (?)back to my house only to find the following on my door

I was planning on wearing my good black.

The phone rang just now. Caller ID said Bahamas. As you might remember I have a friend in the Bahamas, Captain Hugh.

He watched over our 31 foot sailboat about 15 years ago when we left it in the Bahamas for about a year. When I say watched over I mean he slept on it and entertained his friends in it. He also made sure it was safe from storms and renegades.

He must be in his 80’s or 90’s now and in very poor health but whenever a holiday comes around he calls to say hi and I send him some money via Western Union.

When I picked up the phone I have to admit that my first thought was that it was a member of his family informing me that he had passed on. He had long ago been too weak to travel to Freeport to pick up his money and I had been sending it in care of his nephew for the past 2 or 3 years.

But no it was my  man Hugh in his faint voice wishing me a Happy Mother’s Day.

That guy must have the most detailed calendar around. The fact that I am neither his mother nor a mother at all didn’t phase him a bit. I even expect to hear from him on National Soup Day.

Now to be fair dave got custody of the boat in the divorce. Doesn’t it stand to reason that he should get Captain Hugh too? That wouldn’t be in the Captain’s best interest though. When dave lived here, if he answered the phone when Hugh called and wished him a Merry Christmas or a Happy Groundhog day, dave would just give him a “back atcha” and hang up. He’d have to call 2 or 3 times until he got me and I’d ask how he’s doing (not so good Mattie) and could I send him something? ( That would be nice).

Fuck dave, Captain Hugh is mine and will remain mine.

My sister slept over last night because Violet was in a talent show.

Every time I spend time with someone who still has their husband I realize that being alone isn’t the worst thing in the world.

My phone is always on speaker so when my brother in law Paul made his morning call to Marcia I couldn’t help but hear.

His opening line was “You know how much I love my morning oatmeal”.

A look of concern came over her face because clearly she did. “What happened?”

I made the God damn oatmeal and I added all the stuff , raisins, sunflower seeds, applesauce but when I sat down to eat it it tasted like shit.

Somebody put fuckin’ peas in the bag of fuckin’ sunflower seeds. I had peas in my oatmeal.

Even when I liked dave I don’t think this would have gotten any more of a reaction from me than “So eat a bagel”

But not my sister who is the sweetest person in the family (which may be why she’s still married) .

She said “Honey, you’re so tired (remember they just got a puppy who keeps them up at night) or you’d never have thought that peas were sunflower seeds. My brother in law who’s kind of a hot head even when he’s not sleep deprived shouted “They’re both green!”

This went on for a little while longer while Paul tried to blame Marcia for the mishap since she bought the peas but I lost interest.

I just felt so happy that I only had myself to worry about now.

Gotta go, I just saw Elvis looking out the window. I think he may be depressed.