Cat to the Dogs Read Online Free PDF Page A

the pups pushed their black noses through—two wet, disembodied snouts sniffing and shoving, forcing his cat door so hard he thought they’d rip out the metal frame.
    The familiar room embraced him: the shabby, soft rugs; his own tattered, fur-covered armchair by the window; Clyde’s new leather chair and ottoman, which were the latest additions to the room; the potted plants that Charlie had brought over to soften the stark bachelor quarters. And, best of all, Charlie’s drawings of Joe and Dulcie, and of Rube and the household cats, handsomely framed and grouped on all four walls. These finer touches had turned the tatty room into a retreat with charm enough to please any human or feline. If Clyde ever married, Joe hoped tall, slim Charlie Getz, with her kinky red hair and freckles, would be the one. The fact that she could fix the roof and repair the plumbing, as well as decorate a house and cook a mean steak, was a definite plus.
    Charlie had figured out on her own that Joe Grey and Dulcie were more than your average cats. But she had kept her mouth shut, and this was more than a plus. In Joe’s book, Charlie Getz was already family.
    Though so far there was no talk of a wedding. Charlie seemed happy in her own small studio apartment above the village shops, from which she ran her housecleaning-and-repair business.
    â€œJoe? That you? What’s going on out there? What’s all the banging? You stuck in your cat door? I told you you’re getting fat.”
    At the sound of a human voice, the pups went wild, pawing and whining.
    â€œShut up!” Joe hissed. “You want to get your heads stuck in that little square hole? Idiots!” He was rooting at his back to dislodge a flea—thanks to the strays—when Clyde strode out of the kitchen and stood looking at the two black noses pushing in through the cat door.
    Joe concentrated on licking his shoulder.
    â€œNow what’ve you brought home?”
    â€œWhat do you mean, now ? What have I ever brought home? I didn’t bring those home.” He regarded the noses as if he had never seen them before.
    â€œYou have brought home dead rats,” Clyde began. “Dead birds. That live bird that plastered its feathers all over the kitchen. Live snakes. Not to mention a parade of randy and ill-mannered lady cats. Before you met Dulcie, of course.”
    â€œDulcie is a lady.”
    â€œDon’t twist my words.”
    â€œAre you implying that Dulcie is not a lady? Or that she is not welcome?”
    â€œI am not talking about Dulcie. You have brought home enough trouble through that cat door to send me to the funny farm for life. There’s never a week, Joe, that you don’t get into some kind of new predicament and drag your problems home. Do you see these gray hairs?” he asked, pointing to his ragged, dark haircut.
    â€œDebauchery,” Joe told him. “That’s what makes gray hair. Too many women and too much booze. That’s where the gray hairs come from.”
    â€œI guess you should know about debauchery, every hair on your lecherous body is gray. Before Dulcie, you…”
    â€œCan’t you leave Dulcie out of this? What do you have against Dulcie?”
    â€œI don’t have anything against Dulcie. If you had half her decent manners—to say nothing of her morals and charm and half her finesse—life would…”
    â€œOh, can it, Clyde. Dulcie’s a female. You want me to act all prissy, tippy-toe in here every morning smelling of kitty shampoo and primrose-scented flea powder?”
    Clyde sighed and retrieved his coffee cup from atop the CD player. He was dressed for work in a pair of clean jeans, his new Rockports, and a red polo shirt beneath a white lab coat that, this early in the morning, was still unsullied by the grease from a variety of BMWs and Jaguars. His dark hair was damp from the shower, his cheeks still ruddy from shaving.
    Clyde regarded