Cat Lady: A Night with Cake

This is the random fact/story #1 promised last Friday-- 

A story having to do with Cake (as in our Halloween costume muse.)

Friends. A few years ago I met John McCrea (the lead singer of Cake), and it all started with a homeless woman. Well, really, it started with a concert at Stubbs with Cake as the headliner, but you know. That led us to this homeless woman.

She was rough, older, sitting in a wheelchair, and hungry, or so she said. When she asked for money for food, I offered her a hot piece of pizza. She accepted, I bought, and upon bringing it back to her simply heard, "Where's mah drink?!"

Umm...

There were crickets for a few seconds as I tried to slap my jaw back up on my face.

I was not pleased, to say the least. And neither was she when I snatched that pizza right back informing her that the proper response was "thank you." I still get a little fumey thinking about this. But my stern talking to was clearly the miracle she needed in life, because she got right out of that wheelchair, gave me the stink eye, and pushed it away on her own two feet. A real pizza miracle I tell ya.

So anyway, there I was, pie in hand and out on the street. I don't eat dairy, so devouring that yummy slice wasn't an option. My beau had abandoned me for a bar, so he wasn't an option. And I was all alone. It was at this moment I saw him: the stray cat. Skinny and meowing and just the compadre I needed to wash the anger towards mean non-crippled lady away. I sat on the curb, he hid under a car, and we bonded via some mozzarella and tomato sauce.

And as I sat on my curb feeding this fine feline friend his first pizza there was a yell asking if I was alright. I turned to acknowledge that I can in fact have human interactions, and, you guessed it, there stood Cake. Walking to their hotel.

I played it cool. Just another night.

"Yeah, I'm good. Not drunk. Or crazy. You know, just giving this cat some pizza."

They smiled. I smiled. We talked about saving animals and the world. I asked why they skipped a popular song, John responded, and our rendezvous was over. I had just met Cake.

Since the cat didn't quite understand the excitement of that moment, I wrapped up our little furry heart-to-heart and headed to the others, who of course were floored that I met them in such a *ahem* random manner. This led to a drink for some story telling, which led to a new bar for a change of scene, which led to another beer to relive the night. And there we were: at a tiny, empty bar on a Wednesday night.

Believing that the night had peaked, I was getting ready to pack it up when I turned around and heard, "Hi! Cat lady! Hey... CAT LADY!!"

Yes. I had just been called "Cat Lady" by a person of fame. Not once, mind you, but twice. I mean, on one hand, he was talking to me. And on the other? He called me "Cat Lady." CAT. LADY. Thanks John. I'd like to say I'll forgive you for that one, but no can do. That's a low blow for a girl under, let's say, fifty? Or maybe just any age. I think I'll go with that.

Luckily though, this less than flattering greeting was just what was needed to break the ice for the evening ahead, and what an evening it was. Little mouthed John McCrea shut that bar down with us, letting us teach him dart games and plan out album covers. He was opinionated; he was a bit arrogant; and he was fun. He signed our poster and we signed his. We bid farewell as I gave him my Facebook info, knowing full well that we would never be friends but also knowing that deep down, Austin would always bring back the pepperoni-filled purr of his dear friend... "Cat Lady."

LIVE THE MURRAYED LIFE

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