Bono

Chapter Twenty-eight

CALL OF THE WILD

A cat sometimes needs a savior.

I was nervous about sharing my plans with Michaela. She’d think I’d gone bonkers. But I needed to tell her how much Bono meant to me now, and that he was the reason I was going to stay in New York. When she invited me to meet her at the Central Park Zoo, I thought it would be the perfect setting to tell her my news.

The zoo started back in the 1860s when it was a depository for creatures too unpredictable to squeeze inside a parlor, such as a bear and some swans. Before long, celebrities decided to enhance their reputations by adding to the collection. General Custer donated a rattlesnake.

As the cab pulled up outside the zoo, the first thing I saw was Michaela’s red jacket glowing like a beacon. She greeted me warmly and we bustled through the gates like a pair of excited schoolgirls. Central Park Zoo was smaller than I’d expected. At six-and-a-half acres, there’s something quaint and endearing about the place. Even though it was upgraded with naturalistic exhibits in the 1980s, it retains the aura of a Victorian menagerie

After pausing to admire the sea lions cavorting in their pool, we bounced through an indoor rain forest. Michaela’s plan was clear, however. Cat woman to the core, she wanted to show me the snow leopards.

“There he is!” Michaela whispered, pointing out a magnificent snow leopard crouched on a rocky outcrop. “Isn’t he beautiful?”

If God exists, She must have been on a creative high when She invented the combination of black and white fur and sapphire eyes. The disdain in his steady blue gaze reminded me of Jonah in one of his snooty moods.

“Has there been any more interest in Bono?” Michaela asked.

“Plenty,” I replied. “But no takers.”

“I was hoping you’d say that,” she said, raising her phone to take a snapshot of the leopard. He straightened his spine like a fashion model and arranged his head at an elegant angle for her.

“It’s a disaster,” I said, confident my hearing had failed me again. “He’s such a great little guy, but I think I’ve found a way around it. I’ve decided to—”

“Remember I told you about my friend Monique?” Michaela interrupted. “You’d love her. She’s an extraordinary person. She lives in my building and takes care of my cats when Gene and I are away. She loves black cats.”

“Really?” I have a soft spot for people who like black cats.

“Her precious kitty Onyx passed away a few years ago and she still keeps his dishes and litter boxes where they always were.”

The snow leopard leapt off his rock and disappeared into the foliage. “She adores the photos you posted of Bono. And I’ve told her what a lovely cat he is.”

I thought of Michaela lying on her stomach peering under the bed. It made me worry she might have oversold Bono’s charm.

“She’s interested in adopting him.”

“Really? Does she know how sick he is?”

“Monique’s a nurse. She specializes in infectious diseases and her husband Berry’s an internist and pediatrician. A little kidney failure’s nothing to them.”

“They must be amazing,” I said.

“They are, and I’d love to have Bono for a neighbor. That way I could keep him in my life.”

It sounded wonderful, but when things seem too good to be true, they usually are.

“I can’t promise anything,” Michaela added.

Peering into the bushes for another glimpse of the snow leopard, I could feel option three starting to wobble on its foundations. I’d always thought I’d be overjoyed if Bono found a loving home. Now it was in the cards, I wasn’t so sure. With him adopted, there’d be no reason for me to stay and extend the glorious highs of freedom in New York. I’d be just another face in the human soup pouring down Fifth Avenue.

I was reluctant to welcome serious contenders into the life Bono and I had created in our scruffy apartment. Still, if I’d had to choose anyone to trust his future with, a nurse and a doctor would be near the top of the list.

“You know how shy he is,” I said.

“Monique and Bono will have to make their own decisions about each other,” Michaela said, laughing.

We wandered toward the three brick arches supporting the famous Delacorte Clock. An updated version of a medieval European clock tower, the timepiece features a collection of whimsical animal sculptures that “dance” to various melodies on the hour.

“She’d like to drop by and meet him sometime,” Michaela added. “How about tomorrow morning around 10:30?”

Surely this was a joke. Who was Monique anyway, and why hadn’t she been in touch earlier?

I glanced up at a pair of bronze monkeys on top of the tower. They struck the hour on a large bell. We stepped aside to let a small family move in front of us. Two little girls about the same age as our granddaughters chattered at each other in French. The music started and we watched the animals spin past, oblivious to the follies of human concerns. Among them was of all things, a kangaroo, complete with a joey in her pouch, blowing on a horn.

It took a few seconds to recognize the tune: “What the World Needs Now Is Love.”