Dog Diaries

Inizio

inizio - initiative

Mrs. Hubert passed apartment 26, surprised to see a bunch of moving boxes, sealed and taped stacked beside the door. No body had moved in here since two years now.
Hawksbay Heights, though a very jolly looking building from the outside, was a depressing, modestly affordable place which generally hosted people running away from their pasts, or from their present. 
She had realised this, in her 60 years worth of experience at life, that everyone was running away from something. And this place hosted a marathon.
Sadness swept passed her as she walked towards the stairs. The staircase hosted no sign of life, mostly because people preferred the elevators over the stairs. Even the staff had forsaken this place as layers of dust gathered on the marble, ocassionally disturbed by Mrs. Hubert's gentle steps. 
She was accustomed to the loneliness, but sometimes it felt lonelier than usual. November 19th was near, what would have been her husband's 63rd birthday. It had been twenty years since he had passed away, and she still missed him the way she had all these years. Tears clouded her eyes as she unlocked her door and set the groceries she was carrying down on the table. 
For some reason, she had forgotten she was carrying them until she had to free her hand to unlock the door. It made sense, because her thoughts and heart were heavier than the few tinned cans of catfood could ever be. 
'Mr. Tibby!' She called. She knew it was no use. He wouldn't come. 
'Where are you, Mr. Tibathy. I got you food!' She walked towards her bedroom and saw the grey tommy cat snuggled on her bed. 
'Oh you poor little cat, come on, you haven't been fed in two hours.' She scooped him in her arms and put him down infront of his bowl, which had a few spoon fulls of minced what-ever-they-put-in-cat-food material in it. 
Mr. Tibathy meowed protestingly.
'Come on, there's no time for arguments. I've fed you enough already. I feel so sorry for you for no reason. Look at you, you'ree getting so obese. I need to put you on a diet, and yet I still keep feeding you more.' 
As if he could understand her, he starting eating lazily without any further protest. There was a knock on the door, and Mrs. Hubert rushed to open the door. She looked forward to any one she could talk to, even if it was just a few moments. 
Mr. Stanley rushed in so the cat wouldn't get out and she closed the door behind him.
'Oh hello, Sam! What brings you here?'
'Good afternoon, Christie. I heard Mr. Tibathy was being a bad boy.' He laughed jokingly. 
'Have a seat please.' She smiled at him, sitting opposite to the seat he had chosen. 'You know that's everything that keeps me sane.'
'It's alright to scold your kitty cat on being obese.' He raised his hands joyfully. 
Mr. Stan was jolly, his eyes a bright emerald green, the kind that radiated wine bottle sparkling in the sun energy. He was so full of life that Mrs. Hubert doubted whether he was even real, or just a fabrication of her imagination. 
'Did you notice, some one is moving in number 26.' she said. 
'Goodness gracious. And we thought number 28 was the last of the people without social lives!' He referred to the boy who had moved in two years ago. 
Apartment 28 was next to 26, which had always been a wonder. The boy who had moved in was in his 20s now, his sharp features kind, his light brown hair messy and long, the loud strumming of guitar always resounding from his apartment gentle and soothing.
Sometimes Mrs. Hubert liked to stop by his door and listen to him vocalizing and singing songs that he had probably written himself. 
'I wonder why no one moves here often. It's more affordable than most of what you find in Toronto.' She said to him.
'It is quite strange.' He agreed. 'Maybe it's the rumors?'
'No one believes in ghosts anymore, Sam.' She laughed. 
'Yeah right, but they're real!' 
She didn't know whether to find it funny that a man in his 60s believed in ghosts, or sad to think people wouldn't move here because of 'rumors'. 
'I think we should welcome number 28 to the building.' she suggested.
'Pfft.' He blew a raspberry. 'That won't make them inclined to socialize with a bunch of oldies.'
'What makes you so sure they're not aged themselves?' 
'For starters, I saw her placing the boxes next to the door and rushing to get more. She looked barely over 22.' 
Mrs. Hubert was interested.
'Really? Did you say hello?' 
'No, of course not, I hid behind the adjacent wall till she left. You know how I am with kids.' He earned another laugh from Mrs. Hubert, who was already making her mind up about what she had to do next.