“Okay.”
“It’s a very dangerous thing when a young person—when any person—wants to hurt an animal. People pass it off sometimes because it’s ‘just’ an animal. Not a person. But to want to hurt an animal shows a very troubling lack of empathy. Empathy is what allows us to live with each other, Raymond. Maybe you know that. Without it, things fall apart. And the boys who hurt animals tend to become the boys who hurt people. They are practicing. It is not a good thing. Where I grew up there was a boy who killed cats. All the neighborhood cats began to disappear. His parents tried to cover for him. He was never made to pay. But it got worse. Much worse. I hate even to say how much worse. I don’t like to speak of such things. But it did not confine itself to animals. I’ll just say that and no more.”
As she spoke, she continued to stroke the cat’s ears. And the cat—Louise—continued to purr.
“The fact that you worked to save her, Raymond,” she added, “this tells me so much about you.”
“Where did you grow up?”
Something dark crossed the old woman’s face then. Even the cat noticed, though not by looking. She just picked up the change in mood. She jumped down and slithered under the couch to hide.
“That doesn’t matter for now,” she said.
“That’s right. You’re right. I’m sorry. It doesn’t.”
“Try not to be so sorry, my young friend. Most of what you regret in this world is not of your own making.”
“Okay, I’ll try. I’m sorry.”
Then a second later he heard himself, as if on instant replay.
“Oops,” he said.
“You will practice,” she said. “I will remind you.”
“So do you think you’ll be okay alone with her?” he asked. “If I go now?”
It was at least an hour or two later. Raymond couldn’t see a clock from where he sat with them on the couch. But the sun outside the curtained window told him it was midday.
“We will keep our fingers crossed,” she said. “I will be very aware as I am crossing rooms. If I hear the bell I will stop until I know more. The one thing that could be a problem . . . well, let’s just hope she doesn’t do it. If she sleeps on the rug right in the middle of a room, that will be a danger. But probably she is too cautious for that. As she gets to know the place, and me, she might do it in one spot, over there by the window where the sun comes through the curtain and warms the rug. But I know that spot. I can avoid it. I hope now that it works out, Raymond, and not only for her sake and yours. I miss having cats. It will be nice to have another beating heart around.”
“I’ll come check on you more often until we see.”
“That would be good. Just come and rap on the door. If I’m fine, I’ll call to you. I’ll say, ‘I am fine, Raymond.’ But then if I should take a fall, I’ll know someone will be along shortly.”
He stood. Moved to the door.
“I don’t . . . I don’t know how to . . . I want to tell you . . .”
But the words dried up. Because he didn’t know how to say them. It should have been easy. Thank you. He had said it before. But never about something so intensely important. His gratitude seemed to swell up in his throat and choke him.
“You don’t have to,” she said. “I know what this little animal means to you. I hear it in your voice when you talk about her. Go on. We will be fine.”
Raymond let himself out.
He pressed one ear to the door and listened as she crossed the rug to lock up after him. Just to be sure she made it okay.
“I’m right here,” he said as she did up the last lock.
“I knew you would be,” she said.
He waited until he was sure she must be sitting again. Then he trotted up the stairs to his own apartment.
Once there, he turned on his computer and searched for phone directory listings. The white pages online. Typed in “Luis Velez.” Then “New York, New York.” If he was right about the spelling of the first and last name, there were about twenty listings. If not, there were many more. Many variations.
Well, he thought. I’ll just have to start at the first one and keep going until I find him. Or find that he can’t be found.
In the middle of the night Raymond woke, nursing a bad thought. He booted up his computer and searched for Luis’s name and the word “Obituary.” Nothing useful came up.
He breathed a sigh of relief and put himself back to bed.