Beware of Cat Read Online Free PDF Page A

owner’s face made it worthwhile.
    When I got up, the man persisted, “You’re lucky he didn’t take your arm off. Nobody pets that dog!”
    “Well, maybe you should,” I replied. “I’ve been doing it for two years now. He likes it.”
    There was another dog on my route, a rottweiler, that really scared me. He was tied with a flimsy rope that stretched to within a few feet of the mailbox on the porch. I had talked to the owners about that, and they promised to shorten the rope, but it never happened. This dog had me completely intimidated. He was massive, and every day he let me know how much he hated me. He had a deep-throated, growling bark and a nasty habit of snarling and gnashing his teeth while lunging at me. My dog biscuit offerings were ignored; this maniac wanted fresh meat.
    I watched the rope deteriorating in the elements, and I knew that it was only a matter of time before something bad happened. But as much as I dreaded delivering mail to their house, it was the attitude of the young men who lived there that really angered me. I got madder by the day. When one of the owners stood in the doorway, watching the dog bark and lunge at me, the sound of snapping teeth finally pushed me over the edge. I yelled, “If that dog ever gets loose and attacks me, I’ll kill him.”
    The young man stepped outside, affecting a look of surprise. I threw his mail on the steps and said, “When that rope snaps and it comes down to him or me, believe me, buddy, I won’t lose.”
    He snickered and opened the door to call to his roommate. “Hey, the mailman is going to kill our dog.”
    I was infuriated. The only thing I could do was get away from there. The problem resolved itself in a few weeks, however, when the police raided the house for drugs. I never saw the owners, or the dog, again.

    BUT COWBOY WAS DIFFERENT. He was a big, mixed-breed dog with the dull yellow color of a lab and the longer, feathered fur of a retriever. In contrast with his lackluster yellow fur, he wore a bright red bandana tied around his collar. Cowboy didn’t have a mean bone in his body. One of his best friends was a neighbor’s old orange tabby cat that liked to snuggle up with him in the sun for a nap.
    The house where Cowboy lived was set well back from the street. His owner was a handyman carpenter who had built a beautiful cedar fence around the yard to keep Cowboy at home. It probably wasn’t necessary, however, as the few times I saw him out of the yard, Cowboy just sat near the gate watching the world go by. When he spotted me, he accompanied me around the block.
    His doghouse was out back by the alley. When he heard me come through the gate, he tore around the corner of the house and across the front yard to greet me. If he didn’t happen to hear me, I gave a short whistle just to watch him come running. I always took a minute to sit on the steps and scratch his ears.
    Cowboy was one of those rare dogs whose expressions showed on his face. His mouth always seemed to turn up in a smile when I arrived; but then, I only saw him for these few brief moments each day, so maybe that was just the shape of his mouth. He used his whole body to wag his tail when greeting me.
    Cowboy’s living situation was unusual. His owners were divorced. The woman lived in the house, but I seldom saw her. The handyman husband kept an apartment nearby, but I talked to him at the house all the time. He mowed the lawn and did all the upkeep around the place. And, of course, he built that beautiful fence. I commented one time on their living arrangements. His reply was simple and straightforward.
    “I still love her,” he said. “I guess we can’t live together, but I want her in my life. Besides, there’s Cowboy to think about. My apartment doesn’t allow dogs, so I come over every day to visit him.”
    Whenever we stood around talking, Cowboy would lie in the grass nearby watching us. He looked like he thought it was just the greatest thing in the