Leo, La Palma, and Me

Time to Wake Up

I hear the screeching wheels against the tracks of another freight train going by no more than a few hundred feet from my window. My balcony doors, spacious by day, covered with layers of thick grey cotton fabric by night, still allow the grating noise to penetrate my space and sleep. My cat Leo paws at the curtain, trying to get a glimpse outside, or simply because he knows that I wake up easily. My body senses that the noises are coming from him now, and I know it’s time to get up. Leo, my companion and alarm clock. Throwing off the weighted peachy pink comforter, I lean my feet over the bed. I’m careful to not step on him in the dark while I find my slate blue flip flops that hopefully are still in the same place.

Breakfast Time

It’s time to bring La Palma, a parlour palm, out of the closet and back to her stand next to the balcony window. Leo chewed her bottom leaves a few months ago when I introduced them. She now sleeps in the closet so she is no longer part of Leo’s early morning munching routine to get my attention. Leo moves between his dishes and back to me, then back to the dishes. This time, he cares even less about the palm. He’s ready for his moist wet food from a can, paired with a few bites of an egg. I can sense his impatience in my body.

Meeting Leo

I approach a narrow brick house in northwestern D.C. and knock, double checking the address on my Android one more time. Denali’s foster mom motions for me to come in. A slender cat with beautiful black fur and two visible teeth that overgrew his mouth is relaxing on the couch. I sit down on the wooden floor with a cat toy, tempting him with each sway of the string. He comes right over to play and receive pets, somehow sensing I was a “safe” person after his previous experience living on the streets. His foster mom shares that another potential adopter had come by the week before to visit. However, she said that Denali “wasn’t quite what she was looking for.” Her rejection, now bringing a tightness in my throat, also meant he was still available for adoption. It meant he would come home to live with me. Denali would become my Leo. My courage.

Her Arrival

It’s July, and the corrugated cardboard box shows up just outside my door. Leo watches attentively as I slowly drag it in across my apartment floor. La Palma has arrived. After removing the packaging from around her pale pot, I fill her “self-watering” basin up with water, so she always has enough to drink whenever she wants. The pristine olive leaves are surprisingly intact, even with her few days of uncertain travel. Leo approaches. Two paws now lean on the edge of the soil; his teeth are on the verge of her bottom leaves. Oh-no....

At the Computer

La Palma, just a few feet in front of me as I work, seems to cautiously lean her leaves out. She takes in more shade than sunshine from my window since the sun won’t approach directly for a few more hours. Leo, nestled now next to me in his cat bed, hovers a few inches above my keyboard so I can still type. I pause, tempted to pet his silky fur but I wait a bit longer. Beyond three pets, he wakes up, his back stretching upward, and wants my full attention. The email I’m drafting can wait until later.

The Flight

We make it to Dulles, ready to board just in the nick of time. Our first flight together — on our way to Colorado. I wheel Leo through the gate as he gazes out with tentative eyes through the mesh of the carrier. We have the window seat, or rather I have the window seat, and Leo is required to have the spot underneath the seat in front of me on the floor. I pour a little water into his dish but spill part of it as I attempt to prevent Leo from jumping out. The engine noise intensifies and soon the nose wheels move beneath us. Heads turn to figure out where the yowling is coming from as the airplane angles upwards during takeoff.

Emergence

I gaze at the spear leaf in the middle of La Palma, shooting straight upwards. A few days ago, the leaf was tightly wrapped and enclosed, as if protecting her ascent. Today, I glimpse the opening of her heart at the top with once hidden fronds now starting to emerge. The middle of La Palma is a contrast to the worn-out leaves lower down on her sides. Her growth irradiates a new but calm energy across the apartment. Later in the day, I move her next to the opposite window before the afternoon sun gets too intense and burns her. However, when I see Leo eyeing her a bit too inquisitively, I place her next to me on a wooden stand a few feet higher.

Moving in the Dark

Leo plops his body onto the floor, stretching on his side, then rolling onto his torso. He anticipates my pets as I inch down next to him at his level. It’s still dark, as I haven’t yet made it to the other side of the room to switch on the lights. However, I can always see Leo even in the midst of the early morning darkness, and he knows this too. After one too many pets on his chest, he brings his paws in automatically to say “enough.” I move my hands quickly, reminded that I haven’t trimmed his claws for a while.

Painting Butterflies

I’m moving on to my third butterfly. Intent on filling up almost the entire page of watercolor paper, I lightly sketch out the wings and body with a pencil. Just a few inches away, Leo eyes me sleepily from his cat bed. After I erase most of the pencil markings so they don’t show up in my painting, I prepare the washes. Black. Green. Purple. Navy Blue. I’m still learning how much water to mix with the pigment so the paint isn’t too runny. I lean into exploring how the water and pigment interact as I subtly shift the way I move my brush. Only a few more details to add. There, all done. I pass by La Palma, still enjoying the late morning light, as I set my painting out to dry.

The Balcony

Leo nibbles my joggers and patiently sits next to me for a moment. Eager to go outside now that it is a few degrees warmer, and the sun is out. Only a few more sentences left in this email. Almost ready. Okay, now time to open the balcony door with Leo in my arms. Zipping open the mesh pet tent, I calmly lift his body in. I stay outside for a few more moments to accompany him. It’s too cold for me to enjoy much longer. Leo sits in the kitty lawn at the center and listens alertly to passing birds overhead and dogs barking in the park across the tracks. I can see him through the corner of my eye as I type one more sentence. Alright, just clicked send on that email, time for Leo to come back in. Another freight train is off in the distance. Its vibrations give me a moment to prepare for the forthcoming squealing wheels. I shut the balcony door with Leo again in my arms.

Evening

La Palma knows it’s time to hide for the night as I lift her carefully into the laundry room closet. Fewer cat-nibbled leaves at least. Leo watches from a distance and kneels next to an old cat toy that still has a few bits of sprinkled catnip, no longer fresh from a few days ago. His focused gaze as our eyes meet tells me it’s time to play. He waits for me, refusing to play alone. I dig out a vegan leather string from his drawer which was originally from my sunglasses case. He prefers this over actual store-bought trinkets. I dangle the coffee-colored string slowly in front of him in the air, moving it higher as he leaps. Then again on the oak floor, as he prepares to pounce. Repeat. One more time. And repeat again. A few more minutes pass and Leo loses interest. I turn briefly to the window where the top of Burlington Northern Santa Fe freight cars go by once more.