For Passion's Sake

Sometimes you don't know what you need

Coming soon!

Greg Kowalczyk was old, weary, frustrated and spent too much time alone. He wasn't done living but he couldn't get out of his rut.

Elly Latourneau was young, vibrant, hopeful and homeless. Her cat Passion went everywhere she went.

Greg was not content to see Passion go homeless so he had no choice but to move both of them into his downtown condo tower.

At first, Greg and Elly focus on getting along, but a mutual love of conversation and discovery leads them to a higher awareness, rekindled faith in humanity, and an unbreakable bond.

What began as a simple cat rescue led Greg and Elly to save each other – and themselves.

For Passion's sake.

Excerpts

He stared at the image of the old painting: "Ceci n'est pas une pipe."

He smiled. It's true, isn't it? he asked himself. Had anyone been there, of course, he would have asked them, but as there was no one there, he simply asked himself.

He talked to himself more and more these days, because he was alone more and more. He understood why, but he didn't like it. Then again, it was all part of what had become.

He leaned back in his recliner. Suddenly, a visual of a crowded bar on Rideau Street in Ottawa overtook him. People – young people – were standing on a platform against a wall, embraced and singing:

It was St. Patrick's Day at the Irish pub and the row of people were all his friends from the dorm, from residence.

They smiled at him as they sang, raising their mugs of beer in a toast. The green draft in their mugs swayed.

He would have smiled back but he simply stared in awe. He had never seen such a choreography of cohesiveness, of song and story, of joy and jubilance.

His visual shot to a dark concert hall in downtown Montreal later that same year. His eyes widened in the recliner as he saw it again. He stood toward the back of the crowd, staring in awe as it swayed side to side before him, embraced and singing, too. The crowd was immersed in darkness but the stage before it was bathed in light as the performers sang the traditional Québécois song. The crowd amplified the melody as it swayed, the raw emotion from its unified voices causing him to feel something he had never felt before.

He felt it again. His eyes narrowed as he reflected.

These had been illustrations of culture, expressions of it. He would learn later that culture – as much as it had played a role in the regional differences that defined his country – would also play a role in its fracture.

His eyes closed as his own raw emotions overtook him. Sour thoughts and ugly truths of what had become.

Sleep rescued him. Blissful, peaceful, healing sleep. His mind's repulsions, remorse, and rancour faded as his body repaired itself once again.

"Passion, come here!" the young woman screamed. She didn't intend to raise her voice as much as she had, but the cat just didn't listen. Perhaps the young woman had never been told that although dogs had masters, cats had slaves.

"Umph!" she let out in resignation as she sat back down on the dirty floor of the tiny garbage chute room and re-assessed.

Things are not looking good, the homeless-child-of-the-big-city told herself.

Her name was Elly and she hailed from Nowhere, Saskatchewan, as she liked to tell those who enquired.

"Half-way between Swift Current and hell," Elly would continue telling them, although they usually hadn't enquired further.

The prairie-born-and-raised half-Swedish and half-French young woman had been hell-bent Toronto-bound since around the time she first walked out her parents' front door – which wasn't long after she learned to walk at all! The endless dirt and sky blending into a horizon of nothingness in her sight didn't impress the young nomad. Bright lights and tall towers did, although it would take the toddler a bit longer to figure that out.

Needless to say, Elly knew what she wanted from a young age. The trouble in today's Canada was finding it.

So here she was, sleeping in the tiny garbage chute room. Or, at least she had last night. With Passion. Somehow.

Elly carried with her a makeshift portable litter tray with a removable lid-of-sorts. Being from the prairies meant being resourceful. She also carried canned cat food and a miniature plate which she kept clean with a bit of the rather large volume of water she lugged around. Fortunately, it was summer, so Elly was travelling light.

A sound caused the tissues in Elly's left ear to move. She could hear footfalls coming toward her. Passion heard it, too, for the cat suddenly became still.

The room lit up as its door swung upon.

"Aaah!" screamed an old man.

"Aaah!" screamed Elly.

They stared at each other in an awkward tableau. Passion meowed.

The old man's countenance creased and he spat out, "I'm sorry, Missy, but you can't stay here."

Elly stared straight back at him in defiance. Their tableau resumed. Passion meowed again.

The cat must have caught the old man's attention for his eyes shifted to it. The blue ferocity they had emitted like twin lasers softened into a curious stare.

Elly saw the old man's slate blue eyes more clearly as they widened.

"Well," he said softly. "We can't have this!"

With her eyes still on those of the old man, Elly heard herself exhale as he bent down toward the cat.

"Ppp," he chirped, pursing his lips.

Passion moved toward the old man, having apparently decided he was harmless. Elly inhaled, encouraged, but reserved judgment.

"She can't stay here," the old man continued. "This is a garbage chute, for God's sake!"

"I go where she goes!" Elly told the old man, resuming her defiance.

He turned to look at her, again.

"And her name's Passion," Elly added. At least he figured out she's female, Elly thought.

The twin blue incisors came straight at her, again. She held them in a determined stare.

The old man heard himself mutter, "Fine," surprised that he had. What followed from his lips didn't surprise him, it shocked him.

"Very well," he told Elly, now breaking her stare as he turned to pick up Passion.

"Come with me," he continued. "Both of you."

Later, he would say it was because he couldn't take being alone, anymore. Later, Elly would say they saved each other's lives.

The old man turned to face Elly as he cuddled Passion in his arms.

"Greg," he stated matter-of-factly.

"Elly," she replied.

Passion meowed again as the three of them turned left and headed down the hall.

Things are looking up, Elly said to herself as she smiled.

The homeless prairie transplant could almost hear her cat agree.