Bono

She was pathetically grateful. I said it was nothing and wished her well for the rest of her vacation.

Having grown up in the country and lived in various cities, I understand the tension between town and country. The gap is intensified when the city happens to be the Big Apple. It’s no secret New Yorkers feel superior. I wish I could tell them that from a farmer’s perspective, city people are folks who couldn’t make it in the country.

The tourists were semi-invisible, but I soon realized New Yorkers acknowledge each other, and I was grateful to be included in a casual way. The Indian family who sold flowers from the market waved as I strode down the hill to buy kitty litter. At the pet supply shop, Doris and I could whittle away half an afternoon discussing the merits of hessian versus carpet scratching posts while Bluebell flicked her tail in the window.

Though the handbag salesmen never invited conversation, I was on nodding terms with some of the beggars, especially the one who sat resting his stump on the steps outside our building most afternoons. Remembering what Greg had told me, I cast an eye over the guy’s pockets. If he was carrying a gun, it was a very small one.

Even the people in our building began saying hello. Most of them were single professionals in their mid-thirties. They were far friendlier than most of the neighbors locked in warfare over parking spaces on our dead-end street back in Melbourne. I hadn’t seen or heard any more of Patrick downstairs. He was probably out having lunches with Donna Tartt.

For the first time in my life, I became obsessed with laundry—in a good way. It started when I took my coat to the cleaners on East 44th Street to ask if they could remove the paint speckles. They said it would be no problem. When I found out these cheerful chaps washed and dried clothes for $8 a pound, I was down there every few days with another bundle of laundry. Pressed and sealed inside plastic sheeting, my clothes started to look like they belonged to someone else. No longer the Lady of the Food Stains, I had an impressive collection of wire coat hangers, which I recycled back to them.

Living in a city where every minor annoyance was attended to and solved at an affordable price was becoming addictive. One afternoon, I visited the acupuncturist to see if he could sort out my knee. He started by rattling off the names of all the famous people he’d punctured, which reminded me of Patrick. I wondered if name dropping was a New York disease. After taking my pulse, he shook his head and said I had too much male energy and a terrible liver—neither of which sounded like a compliment.

I limped back up the hill afterward, consoling myself with the thought that for any woman in today’s world, an overdose of male energy is probably a good thing. I’m quietly shocked feminism didn’t take off the way it was supposed to back when we were burning our bras. If today’s young women think sending belfies (photos of their bums) to their boyfriends is liberation, I despair for them and their daughters.

As I opened the door to the apartment, I was astonished when a tiny black figure pranced toward me and greeted me with a welcome meow. I cried out and bent to stroke him, but he danced backward across the floor.

Bono jumped on the bed and watched as I flicked the laptop on. The first Huffington Post blog was up. Not only that, a swarm of readers had posted comments.

Hi Helen, Bono is ADORABLE! Thanks for writing about rescue cats. So many people think they have to buy animals from pet stores. Though I know you can’t bring Bono to Colorado, you’re both in my thoughts.

Dear Mrs. Brown, I live in Moscow, Russia, and I have cared for unwanted cats for the past 17 years. They are my best friends. I hope Bono finds the home he deserves.

Hi, I want a cat like Bono, but we have five already and Mom says that’s enough. When I grow up I’m going to work in a shelter like Bideawee. Love, Nick, Little Rock, Arkansas, USA, The World, The Universe.

Dear Helen, Our entire vet clinic is in love with Bono! We’d love it if you could take time out to speak at a fundraiser to raise awareness around rescue animals. Arianna, LA.

Hi Helen, Rescue animals are the best. I’ve had shelter cats all my life. They’re so grateful and loving. Sometimes it’s been hard to know who’s been rescuing who! Buckets of love to you and Bono, Gina, Phoenix, Arizona.

Dear Mrs Brown, I love Bono, but I can’t adopt him because I live in Auckland, New Zealand. Instead, I will be visiting our local shelter this weekend. If I can find a cat who looks anything like him, or even one that doesn’t, he’ll be coming home with me. Keep up the good work. Yours, Andrea.

Chapter Twenty-four

EMOTIONAL ACCOUNTANCY

To love a cat is to love life itself.

“Looks like you’ve got a fan club, Bono,” I said.