Love Saves the Day полностью

The people who live in the building that Josh and Laura saved in Lower East Side don’t have to move, but we do. Laura and Josh say that this apartment is too expensive for us to live in while Josh still can’t find a job, especially now that Laura is going to work at a smaller law firm that pays her less money. Once this idea made Laura’s face and shoulders knot up with tension whenever she and Josh talked about it. Now she seems happy, though. We’re moving to a place called Greenpoint, which is in a country called Brooklyn, and Laura says that she’ll be able to come home on time for dinner every night. Our new apartment will have an upstairs and a downstairs, like this one has, but it’s at “ground level” with no lobby and no man to open doors. Laura and Josh even say it has a little backyard with a high fence and that I can go outside with them sometimes! Too much change all at once is never ideal, but the thought of staying with Laura and Josh and also getting to lie outside in sunlit grass sometimes almost makes me think that this move might be a good thing.

For now, though, we’re all living in a mess, as Laura puts it, throwing lots of things away and packing up what’s left into boxes. Having so many boxes around is by far the best part of moving. Boxes are just about the best place to sleep, because they’re small and safe and when you’re in a box, you can see whoever is walking up to you before they can see you. My new favorite thing is to crouch down low inside a box and wait for Laura or Josh to walk by, and then leap out at them. Sarah used to pretend to be surprised when I would hide in the big plant and do this to her, but I think Laura and Josh are surprised for real when I spring at them now. Which just goes to show why a box is such a perfect hiding place for a cat. “It’ll be nice when we unpack at the new place and get rid of these once and for all,” Josh said last night while I hung on to his left ankle with both paws. I think about how much time I’ve spent in boxes—I’ve been in boxes all the time since I’ve been living in Upper West Side. I’ll miss them when they’re gone. But sometimes you have to put your memory-boxes away, so you can start living your future.

It’s cold outside now, and the pigeons on the roof across the street almost blend into the snow. I wonder if Laura will miss them. She says we’ll be living in our new home by New Year’s.

New Year’s is another made-up story—like hours and minutes—that humans tell themselves. Years don’t begin and end because everybody gets together at the same time and says they do. Years really start when important things happen to you. When you’re born. When you find the human you’re going to live with forever. Your life begins when it becomes important. Like the day when Sarah found me. I’ve been counting my years from that day ever since.

Laura and Josh have brought all the Sarah-boxes downstairs into the living room so we can look through everything and decide what to bring with us and what will be left behind when we go. The Sarah-smell of them fills my nose and goes straight into the part of my mind that still dreams of her sometimes. Laura and Josh are dividing everything into three piles—a “yes” pile, a “no” pile, and a “maybe” pile. Josh put all of Sarah’s black disks into the “yes” pile right away. Laura put things like Sarah’s address book and bongo drums into the “no” pile. The matchbook toys and bird-clothes are in the “maybe” pile. “I hate to throw them away,” Laura says, “but it’s an awful lot of stuff to take with us.”

“We could put everything in storage for a while,” Josh replies.

Laura’s face is doubtful. “I guess. We’ll probably need to rent a storage unit anyway. How is it that every time you move, you end up with more stuff instead of less?”

“I think it’s a law of physics that things in closets and boxes expand over time.” His voice sounds very serious when he says this, but there’s a grin on his face.

“Speaking of things expanding …” Laura says, and scoops me out of a box. “Somebody’s put on weight these past few months.” I think how unfair it is for Laura to say anything about my weight when she’s the one who’s getting bigger every day. But her eyes sparkle the way they do when she thinks something is funny, so probably she isn’t really trying to insult me. She puts me on top of a stack of black disks, which surprises me because Sarah never let me touch her black disks. Josh looks surprised, too. But Laura just laughs and says, “Well, Prudence is coming with us, isn’t she?”

The stiff cardboard holders the black disks are kept in feel cool and smooth beneath my belly, and I’m happy to lie here for a while. Suddenly Josh jumps up and says, “I almost forgot!” I hear his footsteps going up the stairs, and then he comes back down holding the Love Saves the Day bag. “I put this in my room after I found Prudence shredding everything in it one day.”