**

I woke early the following morning but not because the sun was streaming in or the birds were extra loud. No, I had four paws standing on my chest, a whisker-flanked wet nose pressed against mine, and a rumbling noise thundering in my ears. 168 

“What?” Why I keep talking to a cat is beyond me. It’s not like either of us understand a single noise the other makes. 

“OK, I’m up. Let’s see what’s got you all upset.” I stretched, but the cat didn’t get off me, so I picked him up and put him on the floor. Paddy started pacing, then headed downstairs, but he didn’t race to the kitchen where his bowls were. Instead, he went to the front door, paced, and rumbled. 

Paddy is not an outdoor cat. Not that he couldn’t take care of himself; I’m sure he could. He’s the most confident cat I’ve ever met. Hell, he’s more confident than most people I know, especially me. But I’d worry about him being hit by a car or something. 

Leaving him to pace, I went to the kitchen and started coffee. I put down a bowl of his favorite dog chow and whistled for him. He answered with an even louder noise, a cross between the rumble and a moo, followed by clicking. When I stepped back into the hall, Paddy was up on his hind legs, pawing at the doorknob. 

“What?” 

Rumble-moo. 

“Since when do you rumble?” I laughed, but he didn’t. Instead, he started batting the doorknob. Next, he scratched at the door jam. I pulled him away, not wanting claw marks in my door, but he went right back at it. So, I opened the door, knowing the screen door would hold him. He jumped at the handle. This was a first, so I did the only thing I could think of. I found a rope, tied it to his collar, and opened the door. 

I’ve heard people walk cats, but I’ve never seen anyone do it. Yet there I was, early morning, walking a cat. He didn’t sniff around or study the landscape. Paddy acted like this was an everyday event and walked right to the parking lot. The cat didn’t scurry out, he held his shoulders strong, his tail perfectly straight, without a single twitch, and he never turned his head. He marched straight on, pulling me with him. 

We didn’t go far. He prowled the immediate area, stared down a squirrel, and we were back at our door before anyone saw us. Thank God, because my neighbors already think I’m odd. What would they say if they saw me walking my cat? 

Well, that wasn’t the end of walking, Paddy made a fuss at the door again the next two mornings. On Thursday, after work, I gave in and stopped at the pet store. I bought a harness, thinking it would be more secure then a collar, and a retractable leash—both pink. If I was about to make a fool of myself, might as well do it with style. While there, I bought some discounted dog food—screw him. 

As the clerk rung up my purchases, she asked, “Do your cat and dog get along? Did you get them when both were babies?” 

“I just have a cat. He’ll only eat dog food.” I’m not sure why, but I burned with embarrassment. 

“How odd.” She sneered. 

Sure, it was odd, Paddy was odd, but so was I. So, I said loud enough for everyone to hear, “I celebrate his diversity. It’s not a choice, you know.” I puffed out my chest, picked up the bag, and tried to march out. But as is my life, the bag split and six cans scattered on the floor, rolling off in all directions. It’s hard to look righteous when you’re chasing discount beef stew across the store. Nevertheless, that gave me an idea, one I hoped wasn’t too terrible. 170 

On Saturday, I surprised Paddy by waking before him, before dawn. He seemed confused and stayed curled up, watching me dress. I smiled, then did what I always do—I talked to him. 

“Paddy, my friend, we’re going to do something crazy today. Get up and put on your best fur coat.” I rubbed his cheek; he really likes that. 

He stretched but still didn’t get up. 

“Come on, pal, we’ve places to go.” I jogged down to the kitchen, put some dog food in his bowl, and made coffee. Eventually, he came down, looking at me skeptically. 

“You’re gonna wish you’d eaten your breakfast,” I said. 

Paddy grunted. I’m not sure if him meowing, like a normal cat, would have given me any more insight. 

Paddy followed me to the bathroom and watched me shave. I talked to him, as I usually do. If someone heard me, they’d think me crazy, having a conversation like that with a cat. 

When I was ready, I sat on the floor and waited for him to approach. He cocked his head and narrowed his eyes as he advanced. When he was close, I grabbed him and sat him on my lap. Getting the harness on him was easier than I imagined. I thought we’d tussle over it, but he let me slip it on and sniffed the collar that I took off. I think he understood because as soon as I snapped the harness in place, he bolted for the door. I swear Paddy was a dog in a previous life. 

Since it was the first time, and I didn’t know if Paddy could walk a full mile, we drove to the beach. I was nervous about this but in for a penny, in for a pound. I parked, grabbed Paddy, and off we went. I carried him to the boardwalk, which was an effort. That cat was wide-eyed and excited, simultaneously purring and mooing. 

I put him down near the sand. He looked around so fast I thought his head would spin off. He didn’t know what to look at first, until he heard a bark. Then his attention was laser-focused on the beach. He didn’t dash off, he took definite steps, one at a time, until we reached the sand. When his front paw hit the sand, he stopped and looked down, until he heard another bark. There, about a hundred yards away, were two dogs chasing a ball and splashing in the surf. 

This time, Paddy didn’t hesitate, he took off like a rocket, only to be jerked back when he reached the end of the leash line. That didn’t stop him; he tugged and tugged until I yanked him back to my side. 

“Hey, listen.” I knelt and spoke in his ear. “Don’t go scaring off the other dogs. We’re here to make friends, not chase everyone off the beach. OK?” 

Paddy grunted. What did that mean? 

Thank God I’d bought the retractable leash. I reeled it back and kept him close. There were probably a dozen people and four dogs down near where Rehoboth Beach ends and Dewey begins. I noticed that none of the dogs were on a leash, and that’s when I realized the error in my plan. There was no way Paddy would be able to keep a pack of dogs at bay. One, probably two, sure. But four? No way, and other than the lifeguard chair, there was no place for a cat to run to safety. 

I stopped and was about to turn around when I saw his raven-black hair. Michael was walking toward me, talking with someone and tossing a ball to a small dog. God, even in 172 

a bulky sweatshirt, he was gorgeous. As much as I wanted to say hello, I couldn’t, so I turned to leave. 

“What the hell is that?” 

Once again, EJ arrives just in time to ruin my day. Damn it! He was laughing at Paddy, who was still focused on the dogs down by the surf and hadn’t noticed EJ’s dachshund yet. 

“You brought a stupid cat? The sign up there says dogs allowed, not cats and dogs.” 

I’m about to flip him off when his perfect little dachshund starts yapping like a squeaky toy. 

If I hadn’t had Paddy with me, I would have looked for storm clouds, but I knew where that thunder noise emanated from, so I started retracting the leash—fast. 

**