Cat to the Dogs by Shirley Rousseau Murphy

Author:Shirley Rousseau Murphy
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins

13

“I DON’T want a dog,” Charlie told the pup. Hestig looked up at her sadly, pressing against her leg, as she stood at her apartment window sipping her first cup of coffee. Beyond the window, the village rooftops, the library and shops, and the eucalyptus trees that shaded Ocean’s wide median, all were muted by the fog, as indistinct as an oriental watercolor. Putting her cup on the table beside her sweet roll, she sat down to her quick breakfast, petting Hestig when he pushed close to her chair and laid his head on her shoulder.

“You know I can’t keep you,” she said softly. “Or do you just want my breakfast?” She laughed at his sad expression. “The housing arrangement’s temporary, my dear. Three or four days, maybe a week, and back you go to Clyde.” Already the apartment looked as though Hestig had moved in for good, his folded blanket in the far corner comfortably matted with dog hairs, his water and food bowls taking up most of the floor in the small kitchenette; a huge chewbone occupied the center of the rag rug beside Charlie’s cot, his leash and choker lay on the table beside her coffee cup.

She had to admit, his manners were improved without his brother to distract him; he minded her most of the time, was turning into a solemn and loving companion. He was beginning to put on weight, too, his ribs resembling far less an ancient washboard.

But when she imagined keeping him, she shook her head. “Look around you. I’m living in one room, here. No yard, no deck, not even a balcony.”

Hestig whined.

“And in case you hadn’t noticed, I’m a working girl.” She scratched under his chin. “I can’t take you on the job. What, tie you to the bumper all day? I can’t take you into the houses that I clean and repair.” She looked deep into Hestig’s brown eyes. “Clyde will find a nice home for you, just you wait and see.”

The pup sighed, his eyes sad enough to melt concrete, his black ears drooping. Gently, she touched the thick black scar that ran jagged across the top of his head. “How did that happen? What—or who—struck you so hard as to leave a scar like that?” She stroked the ropy wound. “You must have been very small; you’re not very old now, and it takes a while for such a thing to heal.”

Hestig’s tail whipped so hard it nearly toppled a dinette chair.

“Who would hit a little puppy like that? I’m surprised the blow didn’t kill you.”

Hestig smiled and wagged and snuggled closer, leaning into her shoulder with all his fifty pounds. She tried to imagine taking him to work with her. Surely, when he grew older and had more training, he would behave with impeccable manners.

But common sense prevailed. “I really can’t. I can’t keep you.”

He nuzzled her hand, finding no joy in such solemn pronouncements.

She pushed back her kinking red hair. The fog made it curl so tight.

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