It’s surprising how little has changed in the New York neighbourhood where Bono and I lived.
At the time, I had no idea our story would become a book translated into Chinese and Russian.
“Seems like yesterday Lydia and I climbed those front steps with a wide-eyed cat inside his carry case. The heart-shaped door lock felt like a good omen – and still does.
With its fire escapes straight out of West Side Story the building’s hardly glamorous, yet magical things happened for me inside those walls.
The men are still selling handbags on the corner, and the flower shop is doing a good trade. I couldn’t help smiling outside the hardware store, where the kind assistants had given us a bowl for Bono.
When I reached the pet supply shop, though, my heart sank. It was empty and closed. A sign announced it was soon to morph into a waxing salon. Whatever had become of its owner, Doris, and her friendly cat?
I wandered past the brow salon where Lydia and I had paid painful homage to Nora Ephron, and down the hill to the bakery. After ogling the berry tarts of a gazillion calories, I ordered a coffee and eavesdropped on the other customers.
Though I don’t belong here any more, part of me will always be in this neighbourhood – thanks to a scruffy black rescue cat called Bono.”