Léo

The street is quiet and smells of spring. Old homes built side by side with window boxes, vine covered wrought iron. The façades have peeling paint and broken bricks. The tin roofs are vaulted. Following Ash up a winding staircase I don't notice any of it, my eyes are on her ass.

Two weeks ago I wrote Ash for the first time. She replied with a voice message mentioning Nietzsche. The following Saturday we sat on a shaded bistro terrace. Ash befriended a shaggy dog by the name of Babette.

We stuck around until a smiling barista asked us to leave. Then smoked cigarettes on the street corner before I suggested strolling along the Lachine canal. Our conversation never stopped. I needed to see her again.

So this afternoon we met for coffee. Ash mentioned Leonard Cohen and I led her up Mont Royal to his grave. As the sun set in the Hashomayim Cemetery she caught a chill. I offered her my Harrington jacket.

On a bench near a utility shed Ash asked me in her beautiful French accent why do you wear such nice shoes for a Canadian? A curious raccoon startled her before I could answer. She grasped my arm.

I felt desired.

A breeze blows down the block rustling the leaves. Ash jiggles the keys. I must tend to Léo...he will not shit if there is caca in the...the, Ash waves her hand looking for the word in the sky. I mutter litter box. Her smile brightens the night. I'm filled with electricity.

Ash unlocks the door. I force it shut behind me rattling twelve thin panes of glass. Our steps on the stairs are like thunder. Looking over her shoulder Ash holds a single finger to her lips, chut!. I hear the mewling of a cat behind her neighbour's door.

He is so lonely, Ash giggles. I avert my eyes. I know what it's like. All winter long I shut myself indoors with no one to talk to, or run their fingers through my hair. It's been eight months since I touched another human.

The key twists uselessly in the lock. The door won't budge. The meowing intensifies. Calm-toi Léo...we are coming...I don't know the trick Ash says turning toward me. She bites her tongue. She rattles the handle. I nod along though I'm not there.

I'm lost in last winter with snow on the brain. Life crushed me. It turned me to dust. Now I'm in the wake of Ash's perfume. It's citrus. It's springtime. I'm reminded of reasons to wake in the morning.

As the door relents the meowing ceases. Léo...non! Ash declares stomping her foot. Two large green eyes flash from inside the apartment. Ash blocks Léo's escape with a worn leather purse.

Which I complimented earlier while wandering among the tombstones. Ash thought we might find her family name. I'm not Jewish she said when I asked. We stopped walking. Our eyes locked.

I would like to kiss you, Ash said, but I don't know if I want it now, or later...to build desire.

Resting my hand on her hip I told her I want to kiss you too... though I'm also a fan of self-denial.

Right after that we found her name carved in stone.

Léo is very robust, Ash says breaking my reverie. I am certain he suffers from arthritis. In the unlit apartment Léo meows, offended. Though when Ash turns on the lights I gasp.

Shit...Ash...he's fat as fuck!

Laughing, Ash effortlessly slips off her boots. I leave mine on. With my back against the wall I slide down until I hit the floor. I make less noise than Léo. The yellowed hardwood moans beneath him as he nudges my hand with his face. I obey while surveying my surroundings.

The apartment has a classic Montréal layout. A long hallway on one side. Rooms on the other. There's crown molding, a crooked door, panelled walls with fleur de lis' embossed every few meters. I'm certain the rental ad said charming.

Léo...ça va?!...you have not shit! Ash declares from the kitchen. Propping myself on one elbow my eyes follow Ash. Her long dark hair falls to the middle of her back. Her thin eyebrows are scrunched. Her gaze is fixed upon Léo. She fills the room with concern.

Léo, Ash asks, as-tu mangé?

Crouching, Ash tucks loose strands of hair behind her ears. I study the lines of her thighs in tight black jeans as she inspects the electric wifi connected food dispenser. Tapping it inquisitively she turns to Léo and I.

I do not think it is working...it is the same as yesterday...mais...je ne sais pas. Ash sticks her fingers in, checking for clogs. She looks at me. I want to calm her.

Oh, he's eaten...look at him...you think he'd leave behind a crumb? Ash laughs before standing. I'm sure of it, I continue, those devices are misleading...hard to gauge I tell her with false confidence, though Léo meows in confirmation.

Sitting up I look at Léo. His face is flat though he's not Persian. It's fat. Using both hands I run my fingers through his fur, grey with subtle black stripes. Léo stretches his legs as I rub his ample belly. He purrs.

When I finish Léo stands. I'm not sure if it's the floor or his hips that creak as he rises. With locked knees his legs move like sticks. Look! He walks like a raccoon Ash says mimicking Léo's hefty gait. I laugh. And sitting on the smooth floor, staring at Ash, last winter melts away in an instant.

In English we say waddle I tell her as Léo stomps around before plopping down in front of his food. Meowing he looks at Ash with large eyes. She inflates her cheeks in jest.

What if he has not eaten in days? Ash worries.

I shrug.

She sighs.

Léo abandons his begging and approaches me like a penguin. I've never seen a cat struggle so much. It might do him some good to miss a few meals. I pat my lap as he gets close. Climbing is a feat, but he makes it.

He weighs as much as a child.

Il t'aime Ash cries. Léo purrs. I massage his rolls of fat like a bag of warm ground beef.

I smile.

Because I've been wallowing too long. And now, in a stranger's apartment, happiness reveals itself to be an obese cat, and a woman from Alsace.

Ash takes our photo. My face flushes. I'm an old man living a life I should've waved au revoir to twenty years ago.

As I scratch Léo's face Ash scrolls through her camera. She laughs. She coos and tells me how beautiful the two of us are. I shy from compliments. They're hard to take. I was raised to think of myself in terms I hope Ash never does.

So I say merci and smile coquettishly.

Rising from my lap Léo crushes my testicles. Ash giggles as he swaggers to the back of the apartment. He stares out the window. Ash drops to the floor. She crawls toward me on all fours before resting her head on my shoulder, one leg draped over mine.

Très mignon she proclaims displaying a photo. I silently take the compliment and her phone. I look at the image of Léo and myself. It's strange to see my face, to see it smile.

I forgot I could.

Our hands touch as Ash takes her phone. She places it face down on the floor. Her eyes draw me in. She touches my cheek. I slide a hand inside my jacket, it rests upon her ribs. The floor creaks but we ignore it.

Leaning in for our first kiss I notice movement from the corner of my eye. Léo hides himself behind a vintage wooden coffee table. Only his chubby face is visible. His green eyes are wide. Go ahead and watch...you little pervert.