The second and final post on this topic.
It wasn’t very long ago when I reported on the demise of one Cookie Cat and the response of Mr. Moby to her disappearance. We wondered how long it would take for him to adjust to his new situation, and would he act any differently now that he was the remaining cat on the campus. The short answer is that, once he got used to being alone, he decided that he would have to be her surrogate and do some of the things she used to do, to wit: He began waiting to get brushed every morning, which he never did before. He began to curl up and sleep on Natania’s desk chair, one of Cookie’s favorite spots. He began keeping Natania company at her laptop – even joining me once in a while – whereas before, the only desk he would deign to grace was Barbara’s. He began dividing his time at night, sleeping half the time with Barbara, as he always had, and half the time with me. I began talking to him more, and I thought maybe he might begin to react to verbal cues (Moby, do you want something to eat?) Perhaps if we had had more time….. Continue reading
Shabbat mornings, after a few of us stalwarts learn some Mishna with Rabbi Gedalia at 7:30, and the congregation slogs through the longer-than-necessary davening at 8, I am eager to return home to make kiddush. One or two of my buddies join me for some whiskey and herring, and maybe a little more whiskey, and maybe a little more herring… I, of course, make myself some coffee, because why wouldn’t you want some coffee to go along with the whiskey? It’s a time to relax and chew the fat, before we all need to get ready for lunch with whomever we’re having lunch.
One of my kiddush stalwarts, we’ll call him “M”, is a convert and grew up in a very different environment in the mid-west from what life was like back in The Bronx. I’ve heard his story about his father bringing home a snow shovel or an old lawnmower and handing it to him. The implication was very clear: “Go out and earn some money.” OK. Except that M’s father expected him to pay him back for the shovel, the lawnmower, or whatever! I’m glad my parents didn’t charge me rent for the use of the wagon I used to deliver The Bronx Home News. Continue reading
Now that we have properly but reluctantly said goodbye to Cookie, let us return, if we may, to the southwest corner of India…
Sunday, Feb. 14, the last “real day” of our adventure, and I could sense things staring to unravel at the fringes. One couple left first thing in the morning for parts unknown. More important to the group, both Ari’s had taken off. But at least we found out where they were headed. They had received word of another small group, B’nei Ephraim, all the way up north, who were claiming some connection to the Jewish people. I don’t blame the two Ari’s one bit for deciding that they had to check them out. When would they get another chance? The two of them would rejoin us at the airport for the journey back to The Land, and with any luck, they would have something exotic to report back. Continue reading