In the company of writers.

“Boston Globe on deadline. Please call. XOXO”

Well, that’s strange.

Well, maybe not the message itself. I mean, with my job, it’s not really an out-of-the-ordinary thing. Except for the “XOXOs” tacked on to the end of it. I don’t know many reporters who do that.

Oh, and the fact that it’s ten o’clock on a Saturday night. There aren't many reporters with deadlines like that.

Still, who is it? Is it friend or crackpot? Or, both? After all, I have a few of those, too.

Better to play it safe, was my conclusion. So I text back: “What?”

Five minutes later, a response: “I said please call or you’re fired!”

Wow, this reporter has some pull. Amused, I shoot off a return response: “This is a joke, right?”

You could almost hear the deep sigh in the message that followed. “Oh, Teddy, this is Loretta. Please call me.”

Turns out that Sweet Loretta was in the town of Eldredge, a New York pal of mine from way back (she played a role in my story “The reporter who came to dinner” back in February 2010, for those keeping track). She’s also the guardian angel who hooked me up with author Aine Greaney, who was kind enough to profile me in her book for Writer’s Digest called “Writer with a Day Job,” which came out in May. (I’m sure you can still pick up a copy somewhere, for as long as bookstores still exist. Otherwise, you can pick up a copy online.)

Loretta was here for a wake (oddly enough, for a relative of a lady who performed in a show I wrote and directed many years ago...but that’s a whole other story), and wanted to know whether I had any time on Sunday afternoon to catch up with her and Aine.

And that’s how, sixteen hours later, I ended up at the Bangkok Café for some decent Thai food and some first-rate conversation.

You never know what you’re going to talk about when you put a group of writers together, of course, which is why I invited Ashes along for the ride. Sure enough, the conversation ranged from how to give a cat an enema to the reporter who came to dinner to reptilian poets who show up at writers conferences looking to scoop up a lady scribe or two. Needless to say, Ashes found it an enlightening experience.

Oh, what’s that? Kitty enemas? From what I understand, it doesn’t have much to do with tubes and water, although personally, I think that would be a hysterical thing to try and do. Instead, it has more to do with constipated cats and tiny little needles. Which doesn’t sound much fun, either. I’d rather take my chances with a tube, frankly.

Kitty enemas may not be much fun, but the day was. It’s always a pleasure to sit down amidst the company of writers. One thing you can always count on with a group like that is the love of a good story.