Хелен Браун - Bono

So, while I’m willing to accept the sun may have been filtering through the stairwell in an unusual way that day, as far as I was concerned, Monique had a halo. What’s more, her eyes were shining with excitement. With her dark hair tied back and a broad, open smile, she had something of Michelle Obama about her. Not only did I warm to her on the spot, I felt I’d known this woman through many lifetimes.

“I’m sorry, Bono’s a bit shy,” I said.

“Where is he?” Monique asked.

“He’s not always like this,” I replied, pointing at the bed. “He takes a while to get used to people.”

Disappointment flashed across her face. She had every reason to turn around and leave. I was grateful when she accepted my offer of a cup of tea. Sitting on the sofa, Monique told me she’d always loved black cats. I said I felt the same way, and tried to explain the impact of Cleo on our lives. Monique’s Cleo equivalent had been a treasured feline called Onyx. He’d died five years earlier. The heartbreak of losing him had been shattering. She kept Onyx’s ashes in her apartment, and maintained a shrine to him in her kitchen.

Some people have cats. Others have soul mates wrapped in fur. Onyx clearly fell into the second category. Monique hadn’t been able to consider opening her heart to another feline.

“But I think I might be ready now,” she said.

As I poured hot water over the tea bags, it occurred to me that five years is a long time to grieve over a cat. Monique was no lightweight in her commitment to animals. She was exactly the sort of person Bono needed. He’d be incredibly lucky if she offered him a home—if only he could summon the courage to step out into the open and introduce himself.

“Not very friendly, is he?” Monique said as I poured her a second cup of tea.

Bono’s chances were evaporating as fast as the steam over our cups. I felt like grabbing the mop and chasing him out from under there. But all Monique would see then would be an angry and frightened cat. After a while, conversation dwindled. Monique sighed and reached for her handbag. Any hope I’d had sank to my ankles.

“There he is!” Monique whispered.

Bono trotted out from under the other side of the bed as if he was on a shopping errand that had nothing to do with us. He paused beside the fireplace. I held my breath. Though he’d lost interest in it since Lydia had stuffed it with plastic bags, I was anxious he might decide to liven up the afternoon with a second attempt. He admired the daffodils, and arched his tail in a fetching curve.

“Look at that haircut!” Monique said. “He’s beautiful! ”

I’ve yet to meet a cat that doesn’t respond to sincere flattery. Bono spun around, tossed his mane and flashed his eyes at Monique. She called softly to him. He straightened his tail and strutted toward her.

To my amazement, he leapt onto the sofa between us. Purring lightly, he wrapped himself around Monique’s hand. The chemistry between woman and cat was immediate and powerful; almost as if this was a moment they’d both been waiting for.

“I don’t mean to sound strange,” Monique said as Bono sprang onto the coffee table. “But do you believe in reincarnation?”

I struggled for an answer. Certainly, Lydia had unquestioning faith that souls were recycled through eternity.

“Something about him reminds me of Onyx,” Monique continued.

Bono jumped off the coffee table and landed on her lap. Fixing her with those headlamp eyes, he meowed intensely at her.

“I thought so,” Monique crooned back to him.

Goosebumps prickled up my arms. Any ambitions I had about keeping Bono dissolved. These two belonged together.

“How soon can I take him?” she asked.

I told her I’d need to contact Bideawee because there would be papers to fill out. No doubt they’d want to do a background check on her the way they had with me.

Monique said that was fine. She needed to talk to Berry first, anyway. Bono licked the back of her hand. Goosebumps prickled up my arms. Whatever her husband had to say about it, that woman and cat were meant for each other.

Chapter Thirty-one

HEALERS IN FUR

A cat steps into a life at the perfect moment.

After Monique left, Bono nestled into my lap and draped his tail over my knee. Whenever the city became too loud and frantic, I’d come to rely on him as my anchor of serenity.

Though New York was dazzling, Bono had woken me up to the important things in life—kindness, love, patience, respect. He demonstrated it’s possible to let go of past hurt and savor each moment with gratitude; that even a death sentence doesn’t steal away the right to be playful. I couldn’t imagine living in New York without him bouncing along at my side.

The more I thought about him and Monique, the less I pondered possible mystical connections between them. There was only one fairy godmother in their story. Replaying conversations I’d had with Michaela, I realized she’d mentioned someone could be waiting in the wings several times. For some reason I’d just refused to listen.

Though I was full of hope for Bono, my insides ached at the thought of letting him go. He’d touched my heart in ways that would stay with me forever. I wasn’t ready to say good-bye to him, New York, or Michaela and her inspiring friends.

I wondered if, given the chance to cool off, Monique might decide not to risk setting herself up for another heartbreak. Onyx had obviously meant the world to her, and she had implied he’d helped her through some tough experiences.

Time and again, I hear stories from people who’ve been emotionally rescued by their animals. When humans are crushed or in physical pain, four-legged champions seem to know they’re needed at a profound level.

I’m always moved when readers write in to share how a special animal has impacted their lives. A woman who devotes her life to caring for her severely paralyzed son told me their Abyssinian cat is the only thing that makes him smile. She said she did not know how she or her son would cope without their cat’s healing presence.

Another woman told me how heartbroken she was when her cat-loving sister committed suicide. At the funeral, she was astonished when a ginger cat appeared from behind a row of cypresses and circled the open grave. Tears melted into smiles when the feline leapt into the woman’s arms. To her it seemed the cat was a messenger from beyond the grave. As she stroked the cat’s fur, she could hear her sister’s voice reassuring her, saying her anguish was over now and that some day they’d be together again.

A mother whose young daughter had died wrote to say their cat Lily was her main source of healing.

The positive power of felines is experienced in every part of the world. From Seoul, Korea, to Atlanta, Georgia, cats are stepping into peoples’ lives and going about their healing work.

Bono had helped me at a profoundly emotional level, too. He’d shown how wounds of the past are best forgiven and released. Much as I’d craved the thrill of living in New York, that little cat was living proof that the greatest excitement is to simply be alive and to glide into each day with an open heart.

I wasn’t ready to part from him. Still, there was a chance Monique might visit Bideawee and find another, less needy feline. Or her husband might refuse to take on a cat with compromised health.

The deal was far from sealed.

Chapter Thirty-two

BRANDY AND BIG NOTING

A cat can be led astray.

The author of Love Story , Erich Segal, couldn’t have been more wrong when he wrote, “Love means never having to say you’re sorry.” Love means always saying sorry. Philip had been off the grid on a work retreat for a couple of days, but I figured he’d be back home by now. As soon as our time zones converged, I’d have another try at Skyping him.