Pretty Girl

I met Ashley after she moved into her new digs in Brooklyn.

Our daughter, Claire, lives in the same multi-story building — three floors up a marble and wrought iron staircase. Ashley lives street-level. There, the rush of cars and people are a constant reminder of life in a bustling city.

One thing I love most about visiting New York is meeting my daughter’s friends.

They are a lively, smart, beautiful group of young people that don’t mind the jostling of the subway or crowded sidewalks. They love their hang-outs — The Lucky Dog, Horses and Divorces, or Roebling Sporting Club — knowing these are cozy places where they can connect and kick back.

At the bodega

My admittedly awkward introduction to Ashley was in the apartment building’s corner grocery store owned by Jose Rodriquez. In New York, these family-owned businesses are referred to as bodegas.

Claire ran ahead of us to find her friend. After stepping into the store, I felt the vibe. It was summer and the outside air clung to one’s lungs. Sage green maple leaves limply hung in the still hot air.

Air-conditioning immediately cooled our heated skin. We slid open a glass refrigerator door to grab a couple of Coors Lights, then held our faces there for a moment, enjoying the blast of chilly air.

The bodega was compact and busy. Customers couldn’t help but brush your sleeve as they passed. I nearly knocked over stacked wicker baskets holding emerald green avocados, ripening bananas, and crispy apples.

I could see why Ashley liked passing time there. The store was bathed in the soft amber glow of a perpetual golden hour. Each aisle seemed to hum with murmured voices and the pulse of vibrant music.

This place could keep one from feeling totally alone in a city of eight million.

Meeting Ashley

Ashley was thrilled to see Claire, ran over, and touched her arm. Claire held her in a quick embrace and introduced us.

Ashley’s eyes were luminous and the steel gray of a morning fog. Roberta Flack’s lyrics “and the moon and the stars were the gifts you gave to the dark” popped into my head.

I’m a hugger. So, I reached in for a quick embrace. A prick of pain pierced my palm, startling me and causing me to jump back.

Somehow, between her open mouth grin and my exuberance, we fumbled the introduction. Her teeth had grazed my palm.

Small red patches emerged like miniature ladybugs.

“Oops!” I said with an embarrassed laugh. I could feel the heat in my cheeks.

“Sorry, Ashley. It’s good to meet you, honey. I think I came in a little unexpectedly!”

I looked at Claire and apologetically shrugged.

My kids constantly try to rein me in. Boundaries! Mine are loose and ever changing like a brook finding new escape routes.

Despite that uncomfortable beginning, Ashley and I put it behind us.

My husband and I would sometimes pop in when we visited Claire. Ashley had this way of unexpectedly appearing, as though she’d been there all the time. As I do, I asked questions. Trying to get to know her better.

Ashley would calmly handle my probing inquiries. Occasionally she’d roll her eyes and sigh. Then I knew I was coming in too close and invading her space. Eventually, she would accept my embraces, though I’m not sure she ever enthusiastically hugged me back.

A star is born

A couple of years after I met Ashley, fame caught up with her. I didn’t expect her to find it so quickly and easily. She hadn’t put in her 10,000 hours. She didn’t need any special talent. She didn’t seek recognition.

She is very pretty.

It seems that by being in the right place at the right time, Ashley was discovered, securing her moment in the spotlight.

Recently in The New York Times, she was the subject of a glowing feature article. Complete with pictures. You can google “Ashley in Williamsburg” and her gorgeous face comes up. Even more surprising, she’s on TikTok. She’s had countless views, cheekily prancing around and mugging for the camera. She is beloved.

Good for her. Really. She has been a great friend to my daughter, and I’m grateful for that.

The hard truth is that I’m a bit jealous. Having my words in public view, I’d like to be seen. Not to be famous … just recognized. (Though sometimes in my wildest imagination, Oprah calls.)

As a consolation, maybe I can submit an article to the New York Post about our friendship.

I’d call it: “Bitten — The Story of Ashley the Bodega Cat and Me.”

Read more happenings about New York life at Tangled Up In Blues and After the Rain