by Theresa Weir
Must Love Pets
A Romance Box Set
Theresa Weir
Zoe Dawson
Dale Mayer
Edie Ramer
JB Lynn
Candace Carrabus
Barbara Samuel
The Girl with the Cat Tattoo
by Theresa Weir
Groomed for Murder
by Zoe Dawson
It’s a Dog’s Life
by Dale Mayer
Christmas at Angel Lake
by Edie Ramer
The Mutt and the Matchmaker
by JB Lynn
The Man, The Dog, His Owner & Her Lover
by Candace Carrabus
Walk in Beauty
by Barbara Samuel
The Girl with the Cat Tattoo
A Cool Cats Book
by
Theresa Weir
For cat lovers everywhere, this sweet, quirky, and delightful romance is about a young woman and her matchmaking cat. A little bit of mystery, a whole lot of whimsy.
When a matchmaking cat takes it upon himself to find his young mistress a new mate, he accidentally stirs up memories better left forgotten.
Melody’s husband was murdered by what seemed a random act of violence. Two years later, the killer hasn’t been caught, and Melody is coping in unhealthy ways. During the day she’s a mild-mannered children’s librarian, but at night she’s a party girl, hanging out in bars, drinking with new friends, and often bringing home strange men. Although acquaintances have tried to keep in touch, Melody has cut herself off from most of the people in her old life. Max, her eccentric cat, doesn’t approve of her new friends, he’s tired of the parade of losers, and he finally takes it upon himself to find Melody a new man.
Chapter 1
Max had been a cat as long as he could remember, but he was pretty sure he’d been a rock star in one of his previous lives. He just had that kind of cool about him. Right now he was sitting in the middle of the floor in Saint Paul, Minnesota, feeling hostile while staring at the strange man in his mistress’s bed.
“Does your cat have a name?” the man asked. The sheet was draped across the guy’s hips, and it hurt Max’s eyes to look at so much naked flesh and hairy chest.
“Maxwell,” Max’s mistress shouted from the bathroom. Her name was Melody and she took good care of Max. He didn’t know who her dealer was, but she got him some primo stuff. Organic, no stems, and a high that kept him bouncing off the walls for a good full hour.
But Max was fed up with the strange men she kept bringing home, and they were definitely putting a damper on his relationship with Melody.
The guy held out his hand. “Here, kitty-kitty.” He smelled like sweat, cigarettes, and old beer. And Melody. Max hated that he also smelled like Melody. Max sniffed around and found a pile of clothes that gave off the same odor as the man in the bed. Without digging or circling, he squatted over the fabric. Keeping his gaze locked on the stranger, Max let go with a stream of urine. It just seemed the thing to do.
The man shouted, and Melody came running from the bathroom, toothbrush in her hand. “Max!”
Max jumped off the pile of clothes, pleased to see a wet spot on both pants and shirt.
“Goddamn cat!” The guy dove from the bed. Max flicked his tail and zoomed out of the room, skidding as he took a corner, giving a quick jump when he hit the wall, corrected, then a straight shot through the living room and kitchen, to the basement where he’d be safe. But voices carried through the floor vents.
“He pissed all over my clothes!”
“He’s never done that before,” Melody said. “I don’t know what got into him.”
“I’ll have to wear cat-piss clothes to work.”
The noise finally settled down, and Max began to wonder if he was missing out on anything. He inched his way back upstairs, each step silent and smooth. He peeked around the corner.
The guy was dressed, getting ready to leave.
“Here’s my phone number.” Melody handed him a business card. It had a picture of Max on it. A box of them had arrived at the house one day, and Melody had shown them to him. “What do you think of this handsome guy?” she’d asked. “Do you like having your face on my card?”
He’d liked it a lot.
She’d had another cat before Max. Max had seen pictures. He didn’t like to think of that other cat. It made his tummy feel funny.
“You’re a librarian?” The guy sounded disgusted.
“Children’s librarian. At the Hamline Midway Library, to be exact.”
Max wasn’t crazy about kids, but he lifted his nose in a haughty way just to demonstrate support of his mistress.
“Even worse.”
“Would it be better if I were a stripper?”
The guy nodded. “That would be hot.”
She grabbed the card. “Get out.”
“I’m trying.” He stuffed his feet into a pair of sneakers and bent to tie them. The rapidly moving laces were almost impossible for Max to resist, but he managed to control himself. As the man straightened, he spotted Max. “There you are, you idiot cat.”
Max gave him a hard stare even though his heart was pounding. Suddenly Melody scooped him up and pressed him to her chest. “Get out,” she told the man.
He looked from her to Max and back. “Crazy cat lady.” Then he was gone with a slam of the kitchen door.
“I just have one cat,” Melody shouted after him. “Just one! Cat ladies have a lot of cats!”
Max pushed his paws against her chest so he could lean back and look up at her.
“Oh, Max.” Remnants of yesterday’s mascara smudged her blue eyes, and her dark hair fell against her neck in the spot Max liked to nuzzle. She smelled like the strange stuff she drank when she was away from home. Something sweet and curious, a secret scent that drifted between them when she talked, that found a home on her skin where it would linger for days. A scent that spoke of a world Max knew nothing about, a world that scared him with its mysteries and possible dangers.
“Why do I bring these losers home?” Melody was wearing her pink pajamas. The ones with the black cats. Max smiled at her. She smiled back and massaged his head. “When am I going to realize that you’re the only guy I need in my life?”
She’d said the same thing before. Max knew that soon she would meet her friends for drinks and there would be another morning and another loser. It had been fourteen cat years since David had died, but fourteen of Max’s years translated to two of Melody’s. It was time she met a decent guy, and Max was beginning to think he’d have to take it upon himself to find one.
Chapter 2
Max was a cat of action. The very next day after Melody left for work, he moved forward with his plan. He would go out into the world and return with a man for Melody. Leaving home was easy. All he had to do was slip out the doggy door that had been installed by the previous homeowners. When Melody and David moved into the place, there had been some discussion about the door.
“Max won’t leave the yard,” David had predicted.
He’d been right. In fact, just thinking of what might dwell beyond the solid fence scared the bejesus out of Max. Now, as he sat in the safety of his backyard kingdom, doubt crept in and he briefly wondered about the practicality of his matchmaking plan. But the trepidation didn’t last long. His spontaneous nature kicked in and he scaled the fence, then perched casually on a post, fake-licking a paw to give the impression that he had all day and was not on a mission. A cat, especiall
y a cat like him, had to retain an outward appearance of cool at all times.
Upon occasion, he’d had the misfortune of spending time with cats that cried and begged and generally made fools of themselves. He would never be one of those cats.
With a vague plan in mind, he dove headfirst off the post, the pads of his feet contacting the rough surface of the fence boards, the ground rising to meet him. A fraction of a second later, he was upright in a clump of the neighbor’s yellow flowers.
They smelled heavenly.
He briefly forgot his mission. He touched the tip of his nose to the soft petals and sniffed, the flower’s sweet scent filling his head with the dreamiest of sensations that left him so transported that he collapsed in the deep grass.
His head gradually cleared, his awareness expanding beyond the gently bobbing yellow flowers. Daffodils? Were they daffodils? Melody had mentioned something about spring, but Max hadn’t paid much attention. He’d just been glad he could go outside without freezing his claws off, or without being greeted by a wall of snow and ice. But he had to admit if this was spring it was delightful.
Harsh sounds intruded. Those were followed by new, unpleasant odors. Terror came out of nowhere, and he almost ran back the way he’d come, but he controlled the urge to split.
He hadn’t been prepared for the sensory overload of the world beyond the fence. Foolishly, he’d thought it would be like the backyard, only bigger. But it was nothing like the backyard. Nothing.
He made his way down alleys and across streets. He stopped and sniffed, taking a reading. He could smell Como Zoo to the north. He could smell the eateries and fast-food joints on University Avenue. He could even smell his vet’s office, and, at one point, he almost thought he caught a whiff of his long-lost brother.
Focus.
But it was hard when every sight and sound and smell was a distraction. As he continued on his way, he tried to divert himself from a growing sense of panic and his inability to understand why anybody would ever leave home. He tried to calm himself by redirecting his attention to the qualities he would look for in a mate for his mistress.
The new guy had to have a nice voice. Nothing deep or scary. And he couldn’t move too fast either. He couldn’t smell funny. That was a big one—smell. Nice hands. Yes, hands were important. Maybe that was selfish, but so be it. They were a family, and the new person had to fit into both Max and Melody’s life.
Max was just beginning to calm down, to think that this world beyond his backyard wasn’t too bad and that it might even be exciting and fun and he might like to come here again even after he found a guy for Melody, when suddenly all hell broke loose. Sirens shrieked, almost shattering his delicate eardrums. Tires squealed, cars pulled to a stop in the middle of the street, lights flashing. Doors slammed, people shouted, and uniformed officers threw a skinny girl against the hood of a police car while she screamed and cussed.
From off in the distance came the sound of an ice-cream truck. Max recognized the distinctive music because sometimes Melody would buy what she called a drumstick, and she would let Max lick ice cream from her finger. The happy music relaxed him a little, but instead of running, he sat frozen on the sidewalk, watching the drama unfold. Like he’d done when David was killed. He’d been unable to move. Unable to help.
Cops.
So familiar. The shoes, the pants, made from fabric that was too thin, in Max’s opinion. He much preferred jeans. Easier to sink his claws into. The belt with a gun that, if shot, would be louder than the sirens.
Melody told Max a lot of things, the big one being she would never again date or marry a cop.
As quickly as it had come, the scene in the street dispersed. The cops stuffed the woman in the car, and soon there was nothing left but the ice-cream truck.
And Max got back to his mate list.
Nice voice.
Nice hands.
Not a cop. Definitely not a cop.
Max continued on his quest.
He liked to think he was one cool cat and everybody who was anybody knew him, but in truth he had very little street cred since he wasn’t known outside the walls of his own home. Call it antisocial, but Max preferred humans to the company of cats. Cats seemed…well, kind of stupid. That was the only way to put it. Stupid and selfish. All they thought about was their own personal comfort. A patch of sun. Favorite food. Sure, those were all good, but a cat had to look beyond that sometimes.
It didn’t take long for Max to realize that without the confines of his home his internal clock was messed up. It seemed like he’d been walking for a long time, but maybe it would be equal to a nap on the front porch, followed by a snack, a little exercise with a cat toy, and another nap. He was pondering the passage of time when the houses dropped away and an expanse of green opened up. He heard high-pitched squeals that he knew belonged to kids.
Max hated kids.
Yes, there was Melody’s librarian gig, but Max and Melody had a silent agreement. He wouldn’t talk about his day if she didn’t talk about hers. Much. That was important in a relationship.
A man sitting on a bench caught Max’s eye.
He had wild gray hair and a gray beard, big black shoes that were untied, long strings that would have been irresistible had Max been home. Although nobody else was around, the man seemed to be talking to someone.
He had a nice voice. Soothing, and not scary in the least.
Max stepped closer.
The man spotted him.
“Well, hey kitty. Look at you with them yellow eyes and that black-and-white coat. You are one handsome bastard.”
Max smiled, and for a moment he felt the uncontrollable urge to make the clicking noise he sometimes made when he saw a bird.
“Come over here and see old Jerry.” The man held out his hand in a way that wasn’t threatening. Max stepped closer until the man—Jerry—was able to touch him, patting him awkwardly on the head. Not a cat person, but he could be trained.
The man smelled like everything Max had passed on his way to the green space. The bus exhaust, hamburger grease, cigarettes. Like the organic, rotten odor that drifted from the holes at the street corners where the rats played. Like the sweet sour smell that came from the bottle in the paper bag beside the man.
Was this a mate for Melody? Had Max found him already?
“I’m getting hungry. How about you?” Jerry asked.
Now that Max thought about it, he was hungry.
The man tried to pet him again, but Max dodged the hand and circled his new friend’s legs like a nervous fish.
Jerry replaced the screw cap on his paper-bag bottle, stuck it in his grocery cart, and hefted himself to his feet. “I know a good place to eat,” he told Max. “Free food.” Jerry moseyed off.
Max couldn’t figure out if Jerry was pushing the cart or using the cart to prop himself up. Melody needed a healthy mate, not someone who drank from a paper bag and needed a cart to support himself.
Should he ditch this guy?
But he was hungry.
A mother and two kids approached.
“Kitty!” One of the children ran at Max. She was all pink clothes and red cheeks, and he knew her breath would smell like sour milk and Gummy Worms. Mom grabbed her hand and pulled her back, whispering something about a homeless man.
Max’s head shot up. Homeless? Melody had a home, so maybe a homeless man would be a good mate. But something told Max this guy, while having many of the requirements on Max’s list, might not be right for his mistress.
“Coming?” Jerry shouted over his shoulder.
Max followed, his tail with the bump in it pointing skyward, the tip bent in an awkward question mark.
He couldn’t help but notice that they were moving farther away from Max’s kingdom, and that made him nervous. He still had a strong bead on home, but the sensation of vast distance was growing, gnawing nervously at his belly. He had the overwhelming urge to stop in the middle of the sidewalk and make strange noises. He
restrained himself, but it was only a matter of time before he began yowling like a baby.
The man didn’t move very fast, barely shuffling along the sidewalk, a smart technique for keeping his feet inside his shoes. Once again Max considered ditching him, but he found it hard to let go of an idea once it took hold. He also had to admit that he felt a little safer wandering around the city now that he’d found a friend. He noticed that people gave Jerry a wide berth, some even crossing to the other side of the street when they saw him coming. Max was impressed.
They turned down an alley where a cluster of people waited at a green door. Above the door were letters, and not for the first time Max wished he could read.
Melody read to him sometimes. Maybe she was reading aloud to herself, but he liked to think she was reading to him, telling him stories like the Cat in the Hat, Alice in Wonderland, and Pippi Longstocking.
“That your cat, Jerry?” The question came from a man who looked a lot like Max’s new friend.
“It’s a kitler,” someone else said.
“Kitler?” Jerry asked.
“A cat with a mustache. Kitler cats are crazy. My mother used to have a kitler and it shredded her furniture.”
Everybody had to get in on the conversation.
“I saw a kitler jump on a dog’s back and ride it like a monkey on a bicycle.”
“My aunt had a kitler, and it stole her baby’s breath,” a woman contributed. “Kid almost died.”
Oh, the garbage people believed. But Max couldn’t deny that many cats were a little high-strung. Truth be told, Max came from a family of weirdasses. When Max was still on the teat, someone told him he was a descendent of Cleopatra’s favorite cat. He didn’t know if it was true. Most of the cats he’d run into claimed the same heritage. Regardless, he and his two surviving littermates were a bit unusual. His sister, a psychic, was living somewhere in Wisconsin, and his brother…well, Max had lost touch with him a long time ago. He’d once told Max that he could read minds, and Max believed it. All things considered, Max was the slacker of the bunch with no real talent.
