SPECIAL DAYS

When Gypsy, my cat, starts wearing sunglasses because she doesn't want passers-by on our terrace to recognize her, I know it's time to clean up the apartment a bit. Hey, I'm a bachelor. We have different standards of neat.

Our landlord obviously cares about our cardio health so he has the apartment trash bin several time zones away. One day I will need a passport to get there. Anyway, I rounded the pick-up truck parked in front of the bin, only to have the bent-over drunk hidden by the vehicle heave all over my shoes.

And that's when I knew it was going to be one of those special days.

She was pretty -- for a drunk that had spewed all over my shoes that is. Alcohol on the breath is hardly attractive. When the smell comes from vomit, it's hardly an aphrodisiac. But I thought I recognized her from the complex. The way she was swaying, she wouldn't make it back to her apartment on her own. The Good Guy reflex kicked in.

"Do I know you?," I asked.

"God, I hope not," she moaned and staggered down the street.

And that's when I knew it was going to be one of those extra special days.

I felt like the punchline in that old joke ...and the pig got up and slowly walked away.

I watched her make it to the convenience store directly across the street and heaved a sigh of relief. Now, she was their problem.

I took off my shoes and dumped them in the trash bin as well. I walked the long way around back to my apartment to keep from provoking the Hound of the Baskervilles at the near end of my terrace. His owner sounds like he will hit him to quiet him whenever he barks and bays as I pass by. And while the dog looks like a cross between an anvil and a Clydesdale, I remember Shadow.

Shadow was a minature Chow from my days when I had a house. A neighbor abused him to make him a mean watch dog. All he did was break his spirit so the man put the dog out on the streets. In our city, the pound kills Chows without trying to adopt them out. I figured the poor little guy had had enough tough breaks.

I lured him into my backyard with food. He would never come into my home, never let me touch him. But he followed at my heels, wagging his tail and happy to see me outside, never coming within reach of my fingers. Fingers that could curl into a fist. But he was always at my heels whenever I was working in my backyard. So I named him Shadow.

When my house burned down, I was out of commission from the burns for a few days though I made sure the backyard gate was secured. Upon my return to the backyard, I found someone had poisoned Shadow. And then, after two years, I was finally able to touch Shadow's soft black fur when I delivered him to my vet to be taken care of. And, yes, my eyes are wet while I'm writing this.

Anyway!

So I took the long way back to my apartment on sock feet to protect the Hound of the Baskervilles. When I got to my apartment door, I reached for the apartment keys tucked under my belt to find them missing. They had dropped off somewhere along the long way around. I would have to walk on sock feet in search of them.

That's when I knew today was going to be one of those extra, extra special days.

Gypsy coolly viewed me through the window with one eyebrow arched as if to say, "My brain's the size of a walnut. What's your excuse?"

I laughed and said, "I'm human. That says it all." She arched the other brow as if agreeing with me. Like I said, it is one of those special days.

I'm listening to the reflective "Shape of My Heart" by Sting {Gordon Matthew Sumner.} He is a longtime activist for the hurting, composing and singing "Driven To Tears" while still with The Police -- it was an angry indictment of apathy in the face of world hunger. He kept on with his crusade for those in need ever since. On January 22, 2010, he once again sang "Driven To Tears" during the global telethon HOPE FOR HAITI. Check out his website http://www.sting.com/