June 27, 2010; In The Alley

It's funny how things work out.

First, now that Skeeter has grown some balls about his doctors, there is a certain kind of peace in the house so that when we go for walks he now actually sees things and enjoys things and breathes and is a little bit alive. He whistles! fercrissakes,

It was during one of these nice little walks, on a perfect evening, that I was hit by lightening. It was a normal walk—chatting to the neighbour-dogs while Skeeter chatted with the neighbours; pissing, snacking, shitting...life was uncomplicated.

Then we passed a first floor apartment where the balcony was at Skeeter's eye level. On the balcony was a baby who was sitting on a blanket and was playing with toys and waving at the passersby. Something maternal woke up in Skeet and he went, "Aw" and said "Hello!" in one of those excruciating baby voices humans trot out for such occasions. The baby laughed and Skeet giggled and I thought, "Here we go. The fuckwad will be making adoption plans with Boo in two seconds and where the fuck will that leave me!" But then...

Hearing the noise, curious and trotting out the balcony door came a dog. A bitch. She was a whippet. Now for those of you of the non-canine persuasion, a whippet, to us, is a target for mockery. Let's face it: they're stupid looking—all legs and nose and skinny as rakes and, for some odd reason, always shaking like leaves. But this whippet...Oh! she was fine, my friends. And when she saw me, she leaned down to the bottom of the balcony rail and stuck her nose through to look at me and then...and then...she said, "What do we have here?" And she said it in the sexiest, dirtiest, hottest little voice you have ever heard—stinking of elegance mixed with horniness.

I was smitten.

I rose up on my hind legs and we kissed and then we kissed again and then she pushed her head forward through the railing and I hopped and hopped and hopped and we kissed and kissed and kissed again.

And, fuck, if we weren't making a spectacle of ourselves because everyone in the neighbourhood was watching and passersby were not passing by and even bikers were taking in the show. But neither she nor I could stop. Even Skeeter, now, had put away his ovaries and was laughing his arse off and the baby was giggling. Then there were two human adults on the balcony too and they said, "She's normally not nice with other dogs."

We didn't say a word. Both of us were just whining in delight at the kisses and neither of us cared about anyone. Soon, though, Skeeter got tired and said, "Time to go in, Bub," and started dragging me away. As he did that, I yodeled and my lovely yodeled back and with that she embedded herself in my brain for my night- and day-dreams forever.

I was a pile of nerves when we got back into the apartment. I could barely control myself as Skeet did the ritual wiping of my paws and said, "Do you like her because she's nice or do you like her because she appears to be a slut." I bit his hand—and not a nip—and said, "That's the dog I love, Mofo! Watch what you say!"

"Yes, well," he said as he flicked my nose for the bite, "that's all very nice. But may I say one word? Cleo."

I think I belched 'cause my stomach fell to my knees and all of a sudden my life went from perfect to roiling hell. By the time we got upstairs, Skeeter had forgotten that he wanted to get pregnant and was, instead, telling Boo about the show I gave the 'hood. I was very quiet the rest of the evening. That night, I hardly slept, tortured by twin visions of Cleo and the whippet, one who needed me so much and the other who was there, available, and, moreover, my species.

I was a mess the next morning. Thankfully, Boo woke up late and couldn't take me for a run (which would have been a drag—figuratively and literally—in the state I was in); but when it was time for Skeeter to walk me later he was a bastard about it and took me straight to the alley. "Now deal with this," he hissed when we saw Cleo in the distance, sitting on a garbage can.

But like I said: It's funny how things work out.

She jumped off the can when she saw me and came over to me and we nuzzled but it was not like before. Then she said, "I have to tell you something." I said nothing. She sat. I sat. Skeeter leaned against a fence smoking, allowing me a lot of leash so that Cleo and I could have some privacy.

Then Cleo began,"I'm with Slicer now." Slicer, you'll remember, is that big, feral motherfucker who roams the alley behind our place like he owns it (which he does). I said nothing and she went on, feeling guilty. "I love you so much, my little white boy, but he can protect me and show me how to survive the winter out here and...and..."

"He loves you," I said, part-question and part-statement. How could any cat...how could anyone not love Cleo.

"Yes," she said and lowered her head. "And I think I love him too because he makes me feel safe."

"Didn't I?" I whispered.

"Oh my dear dear dearheart! You loved me as you could. But Slicer is an animal and you're a house dog."

Never have those two words—"house" and "dog"—together or apart, sounded so obscene. So pathetic. She kissed me again and, not too far away, I heard a guttural, dangerous murmur of jealousy that was neither cat nor human: it was Slicer disapproving of all the little kisses. "Hey! You! Simmer down!" Cleo howled back at him and Slicer gurgled a sad, apologetic little, "Okay." Already he had changed her and clearly she had changed him.

"I'm happy for you," I said.

"I know," she said. "And I'm happy for you too."

"Hunh?"

"Puh-leeeeeeeeze!" she said, laughing, "don't think I haven't heard!"

I did what dogs do because they can't blush. I tried to hide my head between my front legs and that only made her laugh more. Then I said, "Can we be friends?"

"We will always be friends," she said. Then she growled something and Slicer came out from his hiding place and approached us. Lordie, he looked big. Even Skeeter backed away a little. But I held my ground. Slicer sat down beside Cleo and I had to admit: they made a beautiful couple. Slicer, apparently a cat of few words, nodded at me and I realized that I was safe and, better, that he would treat Cleo well. I nodded at him. Then I nuzzled Cleo again, turned and walked out of the alley beside Skeeter who, also, didn't glance back.

I told him everything as he did my paws. He laughed and said, "You have got a horseshoe up your ass, you know that!"

I said nothing, but that night slept far better than I had the night before.