I spent the Christmas after Dad died house and cat sitting for my friend Barb. Her home — a quaint adobe with Zen landscaping and energy — seemed like a good place to convalesce. One of her cats, Alley, was shy, but always loved on me — I fit her attention criteria. So here I was at home with a cat while the humans were away for the holidays; I hadn’t even pondered whether I would be alone or not — I didn’t care enough to have that figured out.
Then Paolo, a dear Italian friend, phoned, “Ciao bella! Come va? I am here!” His voice and accent were a lovely distraction. Paolo had visited California before and made many friends — he insisted on spending Christmas with me and making authentic lasagna and tiramisu. We went to the grocery store — Paolo grabbing all he needed. “Don’t you need cheese?” I asked. Paolo just laughed and shook his head and grabbed a stalk of celery.
That afternoon, before his new California boyfriend would arrive to join us for dinner, I moped while Paolo cooked.