Raining Cat Sitters and Dogs Read Online Free PDF

said, “Big Bubba?”
    “He’s an African Grey. A parrot. Talks like nobody’s business.”
    Guidry passed the back of his hand across his forehead as if he’d suddenly suffered a pain. Another thing he does when I talk about animals.
    I said, “There’s something else. Hetty Soames offered Jaz a job helping her with a new puppy. She expects the girl at her house tomorrow morning.”
    “I’ll have somebody in the area.”
    I looked bleakly at him. He couldn’t have somebody from the sheriff’s department watch Hetty’s house around the clock.
    He said, “Morgan said you outtalked those guys that came in on you.”
    “I played dumb blonde. Not a big act.”
    His mouth played with a smile. “The sisters used to warn us about smooth-talking girls like you.”
    His eyes had a spark that looked like he meant it as a compliment, but I was still a bit put off. It was hard enoughto wonder what his parents’ opinion of me might be if I ever met them. Not that I ever would, but I might. I sure didn’t want to have to worry about his sisters too.
    I said, “Are they much older than you?”
    He frowned. “Who?”
    “Your sisters.”
    He laughed. “I meant the nuns at school. They were forever warning us boys about the danger of Protestant girls.”
    “What about Jewish girls?”
    “They didn’t think we’d ever meet any Jewish girls, and I doubt they’d ever even heard of Buddhist girls or Muslim girls. But they knew damn well there were loose Baptist girls hiding behind every bush ready to jump out and make us get them pregnant so they could trap us.”
    “Did that scare you?”
    He grinned. “Scared the hell out of me.”
    He stood up and dropped bills on the table. “Dixie, if you see those guys again, don’t interact with them. Stay away from them and call me. And if you see the girl or the man, try to find out where they’re staying. I want to talk to them.”
    He touched my shoulder again, letting his fingertips linger a moment longer than necessary, and left me sitting there with my hormones racing as wildly as my imagination. Guidry always has that effect on me. The hormone part, that is. Well, the imagination part too.
    Judy scooted to my side with her coffeepot in hand and an inquisitive look in her eyes. “You and your hunky detective been to bed yet?”
    I glared at her. “He’s not mine, and we most certainly have not.”
    “Hon, when a man looks at a woman the way he looks at you, he’s hers. And I don’t know what you’re waiting for. If you don’t use it, it’ll rust.”
    I rolled my eyes and slipped out of the booth. “I’m going home.”
    She grinned. “Girl, when you finally give it up, you’re liable to kill that poor man.”
    I made a face and hurried away. The mortifying thing was that I was pretty sure Judy was right.

4
    M y morning schedule is practically set in concrete. I get up at 4:00 A.M. , splash water on my face, brush my teeth, pull my hair into a ponytail, drag on shorts and a sleeveless T, and jam my feet into clean Keds. By 4:15, I’m out the door, and by 4:20 I’m working my way north calling on all the dog clients. Then I retrace my route and see to all the other pets. I spend about thirty minutes with each pet—there are usually seven or eight, ten at the most—so with traveling time and occasional glitches to slow me down, it’s usually about ten when I’ve fed and groomed and played with the last pet. Then I head to the Village Diner for breakfast. After I’ve convinced my stomach that it isn’t starving to death, I head home for a shower and a nap.
    My apartment is above the four-slot carport that I share with my brother and his partner. They live in the two-story frame house where my brother and I grew up with our grandparents. The house and garage apartment are at the end of a twisting lane on the Gulf side of thekey, on a hiccup of sandy shore that alternately erodes and rebuilds with shifting currents. That continual shape-shifting makes our