Bono

Mesmerized by a stream of red taillights crawling up Eighth Avenue, I asked Michaela what her favorite time of day was to soak up this spectacle. She put her head to one side as though she’d never thought about it before.

“After dark’s amazing with all the lights,” she said, “But then I love dawn when the city’s quiet and people haven’t started going to work.”

I tried to imagine the view without the taillights.

“Winter’s magical, too,” she added. “The buildings are shrouded in mist.”

I began to appreciate there’s never a bad time to live with a panorama worthy of a jigsaw puzzle. On top of that, I quietly noticed her apartment passed my “walk around naked” rule.

Once I’d managed to disconnect my eyeballs from the view, Michaela introduced me to her fur family, all three of them rescue cats who could hardly believe their luck.

“Meet Belle Amie,” Michaela said, holding up a white female with gray and yellow blotches and a pretty pink nose. “I adopted her as a kitten in 2003. She’s my Snuggle Queen, aren’t you girl? She sleeps between my knees every night.”

I followed Michaela to a bedroom where Alcatraz, a handsome white male with black markings and a fluffy tail was sprawled over a blanket at the foot of the bed.

“There’s Alcatraz,” she said. “He moved in when he was six weeks old back in 2008. That’s his personal blanket. He sleeps there by my feet every night. He’s highly strung. I call him my ear scratch addict.”

There was no doubt who was ruling this roost.

“And look out. Here comes Ranger!”

A small yellow and white tiger bounded toward us.

“She’s the boss of the household, aren’t you Ranger?” Michaela said, gathering the cat into her arms. “This one’s duty-bound to shred every paper towel and toilet paper roll in her path, aren’t you girl?”

Ever since Ranger moved in back in 2014, she’d been sleeping near Michaela’s left shoulder, close enough to take the occasional chomp of her hair.

It made me wonder how I could have grumbled about sleeping under one cat. Michaela spent her nights buried in them.

The sky darkened and the city became a glittering spectacle while we scraped our plates clean. It was such a beautiful evening, brimming with affection and happiness, part of me wanted to capture it and put it in a bottle like one of Mum’s peaches. But I was finally learning that an essential art of life is allowing wonderful moments (as well as the not so good) to pass with grace. As I thanked everyone and prepared to leave, Monique asked me if I’d like a few moments alone with Bono. I quickly agreed and took the elevator back downstairs with her.

“There you go,” she said, unlocking her front door. “I’ll just wait out here.”

When I stepped inside, Bono was dozing in the cardboard box.

“Hello, old fella,” I said, bending and moving slowly toward him.

He shook his sleepy head. I asked him if he remembered Lydia and our shabby old studio.

“You’re living like a king, these days, aren’t you?” I said, offering my hand. He raised a regal chin to accept a scratch.

“What about the time you bolted up the fireplace?” I said, tears suddenly streaming down my cheeks. “What were you thinking?”

Bono dipped his head and hummed a tinkling purr. I ran my hand over the lush carpet of his spine and was heartened to discover the sharp edges of rib cage had been well padded out.

“It doesn’t matter if you don’t recognize me,” I gulped, swiping tears off my chin. “I’m so happy for you.”

I kissed the top of his head and stood up. As I walked toward the door to join Monique, something made me turn around to take one last look.

Some say cats show affection for humans with a leisurely blink otherwise known as an eye kiss. When Bono gazed up at me and blinked those owlish eyes, an electric exchange took place between us. As he beamed me golden halos of affection, I knew he was telling me he hadn’t forgotten our time together, and that he was grateful for his new life. It was then I heard words I hadn’t expected or hoped for, but they came across clearly, and in the kindest voice: “You can go home now.”

Chapter Forty-three

ISLANDS APART

A tale of two cats.

After my second trip to New York, extraordinary things happened. First, the ants disappeared. I’ve no idea why, apart from the fact they had been with us so many years I’d forgotten to hate them, which proves my theory about enemies needing hatred to feed off.

Secondly, with a few physio sessions and Pilates, my knee fixed itself.