Page 38 of Life, Love, and Other Messes

“Your boobs aren’t?”

Well, maybe. “She does math games for fun and has nine cats.”

“Nine?”

“Nine.”

“Does she know them all?” When I laughed out loud, she shook her head. “Do you like cats? Or are you just more of a dog person?”

“They’re okay, but most of them are assholes.”

Lisa nodded, eyes wide. “That. Besides, I’m allergic, so that date literally would have killed me.”

“What, do you go into anaphylactic shock or something?” Now I nudged her back with my foot.

“I might as well. My eyes swell up and I can’t breathe. That would be the end of me.”

“And then the cats would come and feast on your corpse.”

“Right?” Lisa lay back against the arm of the sofa and thought about it. “Nine is a lot. Were they all like in a big circle licking their chops all evening?”

“I think I only met four of them.” I remembered the calico and touched my neck gently. “Or five.”

“You know the rest of them were watching from somewhere.”

“Now I’m going to have nightmares.”

It would be so easy. So easy to keep goofing off until we’d end up in a big ball of warmth and laughter. I wanted that. It wasn’t just that I liked what I was looking at and enjoyed her company anymore. I wanted to hold her. I wanted to tuck my head into her shoulder and kiss there. I wanted to run my hands through her hair and stroke her cheek. I swallowed hard and went back to my screen. I’d shelved the thriller completely by then. My brain was full of this romance.

Monday after my classes, I took Ollie to the vet for his annual checkup and shots. The day was like Armageddon for him; not only did he have to go to his least favorite place in the world, but it was raining out. I’d barely been able to get him to go out to pee that morning.

Ollie was ten years old, but built like a tank and when he didn’t want to do something, he had the strength and will of a much younger dog. He started whining as soon as we passed doggy daycare and the park, and was thoroughly displeased with me by the time I parked in front of the vet. I shut off the car, grabbed his leash, and opened the door. He side-eyed me and didn’t move.

“Look, we have to do this. Once a year. Just once a year. We’ll be done in thirty minutes and I’ll get you a pup cup on the way home.”

Ollie looked away.

“So here we go.” I got out of the car and, Ollie, realizing he wasn’t going to win this round, jumped out and ducked to the overhang with me. I likely wouldn’t have been able to get him in if it wasn’t raining.

“Ollie!” We were not frequent fliers, but the woman at the desk did a good job of pretending she knew every dog intimately. “So good to see you.”

Ollie gave her a fuck you look and turned around to leave.

“Nope, nope, nope.” I got between him and the door and nudged him forward. I’d learned the hard way to use his harness at the vet instead of just attaching a leash to his collar when he’d slipped out of it and ended up in the parking lot once. The entire staff had to go out and chase him with me. The vet assured me it happened all the time, but I wasn’t about to trust him again.

It took five minutes to get his weight. I’d seen other dogs step up on the scale willingly, let their weight register, then step off to sit primly with their parent in the waiting area. Ollie refused to step up, then, once I finally dragged him on the platform, stepped off again no less than six times. I almost begged the tech to weigh him and me together and deduct my weight, but I didn’t really want to know what that was either, so I just hauled him up again and again until my back hurt and he stayed still just long enough.

Ollie was also quite protective of me. That was a wonderful quality most of the time, especially since I lived alone, but it was a pain at the vet. They had to take him to the back for his exam or else he’d stand between the vet and me and bark, like I’m the one there to get my rabies vaccination. It was sweet of him, but misguided. The tech took him back for about ten minutes, then returned him and told me the vet would be in to see me.

Ollie forgave me right away. We were having good scritches and I was telling him how brave he was when the door opened again. Instead of Dr. Flowers, our usual vet, a small woman with rosy skin and long, curly dark hair was standing there.

“I’m Dr. Benson,” she said, reaching over Ollie to shake my hand. He did not object, rather sprawled out on the floor. It was between us, granted, but he seemed to have forgiven Dr. Benson, also. She was really cute.

“Sam.” I returned to my seat and waited for the lowdown on my dog.

“Ollie looks great, especially for his age,” Dr. Benson said. She went on to discuss his bloodwork and said he’d been a good boy for his shots. “I would like to see him a few pounds lighter…”

“Okay.” I pretended I hadn’t heard that for the past nine years and resolved to apologize to Ollie the moment we left the office and assure him he was just fine.