Talk to the Paw

by Melinda Metz

  Diogee gave a huge sigh from his dog bed. “That’s how I feel,” David muttered.

  What had he just been telling himself the other day? He had good friends. He had a job he liked. He had a great dog. That was enough.

  Today it wasn’t feeling like enough. Today his life felt like a tight, itchy suit he was being forced to wear. He was restless, and at the same time, he didn’t feel like moving.

  He shoved himself up from the couch. He was starting to irritate himself. He’d walked Diogee as soon as he got home, but feel like it or not, what he needed was a run. He needed to turn his muscles into a quivering mass so that when he got home, he’d be grateful to collapse.

  “Go get your leash,” he told Diogee. Now there’d be no chance he’d change his mind. Once he started the dog up, that was it. A few minutes later they were out the door. David ran with everything he had, until the only thought he could form was Keep going, keep going, keep going.

  * * *

  Mac tried the broom closet door. Completely shut. Not a problem. He crouched down, then flung himself at the handle. Missed. He crouched again, muscles bunching, then sprang. Solid connection! Both paws hit the metal bar and it went down, making the click Mac knew meant success. He gave the bottom of the door a flick of the paw and it opened.

  What he needed was inside. Jamie had put his gifts in a cardboard box. Mac could still smell the loneliness and other scents that gave information about the owners, but he was starting to think that Jamie couldn’t. He kept forgetting that a human’s nose was pretty much useless. He leapt up onto the box and it began to rock. Mac easily kept his balance, leaning left, leaning right. The box rocked faster—then began to topple. Mac jumped off before it hit the ground with a satisfying thump.

  The impact had knocked the box open, making the rest of his job simple. He snagged the closest pair of underwear in his teeth, trotted into the bedroom, and vaulted up onto the bed. He walked across Jamie’s stomach and dropped the odor-loaded underwear on her chest, just below her nose. Without waking, she turned her head to the side.

  Mac batted at the underwear until it was positioned under her nose again. Jamie rolled over, putting her back to the underwear. Even in her sleep, his human seemed determined not to take in the message he was trying to deliver.

  But Mac was determined, too. He returned to the kitchen, picked up the two remaining pairs of underwear in his teeth, and returned to the bed. He dropped one of the pairs under her nose and the other on her chest, surrounding her with scent. He found it so overpowering himself that it blocked all the other odors of the house and the smells coming in through the screened window. As soon as she woke up, Jamie would have to register the scents and what they meant.

  Impatient, he used one paw to tap her repeatedly on the cheek, then added in the meow he usually reserved for requesting breakfast. Jamie’s eyes fluttered open, then she looked at the alarm clock and groaned. “Mac, it is hours until breakfast. As in hours.” She pulled the comforter over her head.

  It didn’t seem like she’d even noticed the scents he’d arranged for her. Mac scrabbled at the comforter until he managed to pull it off Jamie’s face. He flicked the closest pair of underwear on top of her nose. She’d have to get the message now!

  But Jamie snatched the underwear off her face before she’d had the chance to take a good whiff. She flung them across the room. Then she noticed the other pairs and hurled them off the bed.

  “Ewww. Ewww, ewww, ewww. And I have to say it again—ewww.”

  Mac let out a growl of frustration. He loved Jamie, but humans could be so dense. It was so easy for him to understand what she needed. Why was it so hard for her?

  Jamie scrambled out of bed and hurried to the bathroom. Mac followed. She pulled out a wipe that made the inside of Mac’s nose itch and used it to scrub her face. Then she strode to the kitchen and grabbed a pair of tongs from the drawer by the stove. She took the tongs and the box to her bedroom and used the tongs to move the underwear back inside the box.

  He reminded himself that in some ways, taking care of Jamie was like taking care of a kitten. Kittens didn’t even know how to properly use a litter box. Their mother had to show them that they needed to cover up their poop. He’d have to keep finding ways to show her there were humans nearby who needed packmates as much as she did.

  He jumped into the box and flicked the socks out onto the floor. If she handled them enough, the scent would stay with her, even if she put his gifts back in the broom closet again.

  Jamie sighed. “MacGyver, come on. It’s the middle of the night. The middle of the night is not playtime.” She used the tongs to return the socks to the box. “Is there any place I can put this where you won’t get into it?” she asked him. “Probably not. But let’s try this.” She put the box on the top shelf of her bedroom closet and shut the door firmly behind her. “Now, good night.” She flung herself back on the bed and burrowed under the covers.

  Mac watched her for a few long moments, then padded away and slipped out his secret passageway into the night. He didn’t need to taste the air to know where to go. One scent overpowered all the others. It almost burned with loneliness and something stronger, a pain that Mac could feel vibrating in his bones. It was something Mac had smelled before, but he couldn’t remember exactly where. The scent made him feel an urgency to act, and he began to run.

  The smell came from the house he’d been to several times, the one with the dog. The bonehead wasn’t in the yard when Mac got there. On other nights, this would have been disappointing. Tormenting the drool-producer had become his favorite game. But tonight his mission was more important. And it wasn’t just about Jamie. Mac felt compelled to help the person who had produced the odor, the one who was in so much pain.

  He raced to the tree he always used to get through the bathroom window. He was partway up the trunk when he realized the window was closed. Not a problem. Mac continued to climb. When he was close enough, he leaped onto the roof. He could smell that there was an opening into the house from there, and it took him only seconds to find it—the chimney.

  Mac peered into its depths. He could do this. He planted his two front paws on one side of the stone tunnel and his two back feet on the other, then began to inch down. Before he’d gotten halfway, the bonehead began to bark. It didn’t matter. Mac could sense that the human wasn’t in the house. Let him bark. That would let MacGyver know exactly where he was. Dogs did not understand the tactical benefits of stealth. One of many reasons cats would always triumph over tail waggers.

  When Mac had almost reached the bottom of the chimney, he stopped. And waited. Just waited. Because he knew what the dog would do. And, yeah, here he came. Mac knew what he was thinking: Cat in there. Why cat not coming out?

  Uh, because it was a trap? A cat would always consider that possibility. Not a drooler. No, he stuck his head into the fireplace, and Mac dropped down on his head, claws out. The dog backed up fast. Whap, whap, whap, whap. Mac laid down a series of lightning-fast blows with one paw. The bonehead raced around, trying to dislodge him. When he charged past the stairs, Mac jumped off his head and onto the banister. The dog kept going, and Mac ran up the banister to the top floor.

  The bathroom door was shut. No lever. A round doorknob. Those were trickier. For some cats. Not him. MacGyver reared up on his back legs and put one paw on each side of the knob. Then he rubbed them back and forth until the knob turned. He dropped back down and batted at the door until it swung open.

  Immediately he saw the source of the scent. A T-shirt, still wet with sweat. Humans and their sweat. When he was hot, he sweated a little between his toes, and it felt refreshing. But humans could produce a ridiculous amount of liquid. The shirt looked like it had been rained on. A quiver of distaste ran through Mac’s body.

  The sweat made the scent of the human’s loneliness so powerful even Jamie should be able to recognize it. Mac caught the shirt up in his teeth. The taste of the loneliness and pain saturating the mat
erial was almost too much for him, but Mac didn’t allow himself to drop it, even when he heard the bonehead coming up the stairs. He didn’t need his teeth in order to triumph in Round Two.

  Mac saw that the door to the shower was ajar. He hated showers, but this one wasn’t spraying water, and he had an idea.... He slipped inside and waited for the drooler to find him. The dog charged into the room, then slid to a stop, looking around in confusion. Clearly, he didn’t see Mac, even though the shower was made of glass. Pathetic. Mac gave a yowl to get his attention.

  The bonehead gave a bray of triumph, and galumphed into the shower. It was a tight fit. Mac darted underneath the dog’s belly and out the door, then Mac turned and banged his body against it. The shower door closed with a satisfying click.

  Mac trotted out of the bathroom, enjoying the howls of frustration coming from the trapped dog. He hadn’t intended to take the time to play with him, but it had been fun. Now he had to get the shirt home. If Jamie would just smell it—and she should be able to without even picking it up—she would have to realize that the human who’d worn it needed another human as much as she did.

  CHAPTER 6

  David’s belly churned when he walked into The Roost, even though he was only there to have a drink with Adam. No, that was bullshit. He would have a drink with Adam, but that wasn’t the reason he was there. He was going to put himself up on counterpart.com, and he needed backup. Not because he couldn’t write his own profile and put it up, but after that—

  It was just that he’d been with Clarissa practically forever. They met at a dance during orientation week at UCLA. That was back when David thought he’d probably get a degree in accounting or something like that. He’d had no idea what he wanted to do with his life, but for pretty much everyone he knew the next step after high school was college, so that was what he did—for one semester. Then he’d quit and tried a bunch of different, mostly crappy jobs. His eighteen-year-old self would be shocked that he’d ended up a baker, even though he’d always liked messing around in the kitchen, concocting his own recipes.

  Clarissa had been totally the opposite. Knew she wanted to be a physical therapist from day one, got the degree, got a job at a nursing home, loved it. She’d been thinking of going out on her own right before—

  Now wasn’t the time to be thinking about Clarissa. His problem was that he’d been with her his whole adult life, and he felt like he’d forgotten how to even ask someone on a date. He’d done okay talking to that women at the Blue Palm, until he’d brought up his dead wife after about ten seconds. He needed a wingman—a virtual wingman—and that was why he’d asked Adam to meet him here. He snagged a booth and pulled the Counterpart app up on his cell.

  He wasn’t ready for this. Not without a drink—a real drink, not his usual beer. One of the reasons he’d picked The Roost was their heavy pours. Even though he knew he’d have to listen to Adam complain that the bar wasn’t a really a dive bar anymore and how much it sucked that there was no free popcorn.

  He’d just gotten his G&T when Adam arrived. “Why do we still come here? Every time I walk in I get depressed. It used to be this great dive bar and now it’s like a faux dive. Like a West-world Hollywood location. Bukowski wouldn’t be caught dead in here.”

  “Even if he wasn’t dead already,” David managed to comment before Adam continued his rant.

  “And there’s no more free popcorn. I used to live on the popcorn. It saved my liver by soaking up all the booze.”

  David laughed. Did he know Adam or what? “The popcorn was stale, we can afford food, and we don’t drink a liver-damaging amount of alcohol because we aren’t kids anymore. Plus there’s AC/DC on the jukebox—and there’s still some grime.”

  “Yeah, okay. But you’ll notice it’s hipsters playing the jukebox, not middle-aged burnouts who listen to AC/DC unironically,” Adam said. He noticed David’s drink. “No Corona?”

  “Liquid courage,” David told him. “I’ve decided to enter the world of online dating, and I need your advice.” Adam gave an air punch. David imitated him. “You know you’re a dweeb, right?”

  “Don’t change the subject. We aren’t talking about my dwee-biness. Which doesn’t exist. We’re talking about you getting back out there.” The waitress approached and Adam ordered a Rusty Nail. “Lucy told me what you two talked about. I’m surprised that you . . .” He let his words trail off.

  “I still mostly feel the way I said I did. But I guess it kind of hit me that I don’t want to be alone for the rest of my life,” David said. He’d run until he couldn’t take another step. He’d even exhausted Diogee. When he dragged himself into the house, he’d collapsed, just the way he’d hoped he would. But his brain wouldn’t shut down. He couldn’t block out the realization that the life he had wasn’t enough. So he’d called Adam and told him to meet him at the bar.

  The waitress returned with Adam’s drink. “You complain about hipsters, but we both know the only reason you drink Rusty Nails is because you want to think you’d have been part of the Rat Pack.”

  “You know what Queen Elizabeth’s favorite drink was?” Adam shot back. “That’s right, gin and tonic.” He nodded at David’s glass.

  “I have nothing but respect for the queen,” David said.

  “Also, Gerald Ford,” Adam told him. “And don’t think I don’t recognize a pivot when I see one. We weren’t talking about drinks. We were talking about dating apps. Did you get an account set up the other night?”

  “Not completely,” David admitted.

  “I knew that. Because I checked. So, I set one up for you. Give me your phone.”

  David handed it to him. “I signed you up for something, too. The Hair Club for Men. I wanted it to be a surprise.”

  “I didn’t make it go live,” Adam said. “I just thought I’d have it ready. That was before you talked to Lucy. Your user name is BakerMan, and your password is Diogee, capital D, capital G, with a question mark in front.”

  “BakerMan?” David asked.

  Adam shrugged. “Lucy thought it was cute, and Lucy is your target audience. Plus we had a picture of you carrying in that cake you made for Groundhog Day that she said was, quote, adorable. You’ll see I kind of went all the way with the baking theme.” He handed it over.

  David quickly read the profile. “You turned me into a recipe.”

  “Also Lucy approved. We both looked at a bunch of profiles, and it seemed like they’re more like marketing pieces. You’re being marketed as sweet and creative, with a little goofiness—as the Groundhog Cake shows,” Adam explained. “I don’t find you sweet, for the record. But, again, Lucy says you are. I also used a pic of you giving Diogee one of those home-baked dog biscuits.” He took a swallow of his drink. “So, you ready? Just hit ‘publish’.”

  David hesitated, staring at the screen for a few seconds, then he did. He didn’t exactly feel ready, but he also wasn’t ready to keep going the way he’d been going. Not anymore.

  “Now that you’re on, you can look at profiles. See who’s around here. If you see someone you’re interested in, you can press the heart or send a message,” Adam explained.

  “You know way too much about this,” David told him.

  “Don’t you watch my show? We did a few eps where Jess did online dating.”

  “And some woman broke into his place and made dinner for them both, right?” David asked. “After they’d had coffee once.”

  “It’s TV. It’s not like we can show two people going out on a nice, normal first date. If you’re not going to look at the profiles, then let me look,” Adam added, holding out his hand for the cell.

  “I’m doing it,” David protested.

  “You’re doing it too slow,” Adam said. “It’s all about snap judgments. Hitting the heart doesn’t mean you want to go out with the person. It just means you’re saying you’re possibly interested. If they are, too, then you exchange messages.” Adam began clicking and swiping left or right. “Yep,” he mutter
ed. “Yep, yep, uh nope, yep.”

  “Hold up. That’s enough,” David protested.

  “It’s also about volume,” Adam told him. “You’ve got to give yourself lots of possibilities.” The phone pinged. “Hey, you already got one who hearted you back! BookMe.” He looked at David. “I say yes. You?” He turned the screen toward David. The woman was pretty, sleek brown hair, cat’s-eye glasses. “She’s marketing herself as kind of a sexy librarian, and who doesn’t love one of those?”

  “I guess. Yeah. Why not?” David answered.

  Adam gave him the phone. “Message her. Your mission is to get her number or set up drinks. Keep it light. Keep it casual. Don’t mention—”

  “My dead wife,” David interrupted.

  “I wasn’t going to say it like that,” Adam protested. “But, yeah. That’s something you mention after you’ve gone out with someone a few times at least.”

  “Fine.” David typed in “hi.”

  Adam groaned. “You just said ‘hi,’ didn’t you?”

  “What’s wrong with that?”

  “What’s wrong with that is she’s probably in the middle of conversations with multiple other guys. You want to stand out.”

  David quickly sent another message and read it aloud. “Want to have a drink? I bake a mean blueberry cabernet cupcake.”

  Adam gave a satisfied nod. “Nice. Right on brand. Like I’d written it myself.”

  “She sent back a face with a tongue licking its lips,” David reported. “She says, ‘If those cupcakes really exist, I want one.’ ”

  “Lock it down. Set a time and place,” Adam coached.

  Mix It Up Bakery in Los Feliz tomorrow at 6? David sent back. And got a yes. “She’s meeting me at the bakery at six tomorrow,” he told Adam. He felt a little stunned. That had happened really fast.