34. #Companion, May 2018

The public skate in VITAL lasted one hour fifteen minutes on Thursday nights.

In Mike's estimate, it was ten minutes too short for him to complete one full lap.

Clinging to the boards with his right hand, he pointed himself in the desired direction, set one skate straight, weight on the middle of the blade, no rolling on the outer edge... because the inner and outer edge really, really mattered in his case. Duh.

The second skate glided back, as if driven by malicious intelligence. Well, Mike was one hundred percent certain he was not the one doing it. He could not glide on demand to save his life. He hugged the boards, stopping just short of kissing the glass shield. Just let me get to the closest gate, and I'll stop this farce, he prayed to Khione, the Greek goddess of snow. Surely, she managed ice as well or she ought to have been. Anyone on the ice needed a guardian deity.

With a prayer, he hobbled to the nearest gate, ignoring the crowd passing him by, aged three to ninety-three. On the matted floor, he could walk in skates, if he was cautious of not rolling his weak ankle under. On the ice... not so much. What was he trying to prove?

He slumped on the bench, his knees falling to the sides in surrender and scrolled through his phone. Daya's texts look tired, missing punctuation and letters. She was exhausted, he could feel it, both physically and from trying to keep in touch with him. I miss you so much, she typed between the 3Lo this and Sp4 that.

Even when he looked up the ciphers to find out that BoDS stood for backward outside death spiral, he did not feel included in her life—he just didn't get figure skating.

That's how Daya must have felt when you were blathering on about Renaissance or Game of Thrones. He tossed his head back in exasperation, and it hit the wall.

His body struggled as much as his mind with the era of scarcity he put it through. Goodness gracious, but he was exhausted!

Twenty pounds down, twenty still to go according to some charlatan's calculator, and he was fumbling for the reasons to go through with it. What was he going to do with his feat of temperance? Send Daya the after picture? Witness his mother fall into a swoon?

That last one might be worth it, but Daya? She grew up among the fit men. Smaller love handles did not hold a candle to whatever the heck the 3Lo this and Sp4 that was.

He forced the fingers of his free hand out of his hair. It must look like a total mess between the helmet and the pulling. Enough. Whom was he kidding? No number of pounds lost would bring Daya running back into his arms. Her warm compact body on his lap was a memory. Her scent in the spare bedroom would have disappeared long ago, if he didn't find the perfume she'd used in a moment of weakness.

She said I miss you; she'd never said, please come.

If a magic potion turned him into a likeness of divine Hasegawa right this moment, he would still be in the same place. A man who had blown his chance.

His thumbs flew over the buttons. "Alyssa, perhaps you're right, and I should acquire an ami de la science et de la volupté. A friend to science and to lust... also knows as a tabby-cat. Do you think there is a tabby out there with interest in archival science and digital storage, willing to put up with listening to thesis proposal drafts?"

The bubble popped up on the phone's screen while he was wiping dry the blades.

"Super!"

"I'm at the CHS tomorrow afternoon. Lemme know when you're coming."

***

CHS—the Calgary Humane Society—built its headquarters in such a far-flung area, that it might as well have been in the countryside. There were paved streets still, and the chain-link fences around the warehouses, so it was Calgary, but Mike's GPS directions grew frantic, forcing him to turn around in gravel-covered yards.

"The landscape here doesn't lend itself to the thoughts of cuddly critters," Mike told Alyssa when he had finally infiltrated the solitary two-story brown-brick building with huge lettering down the front. It spelled out the "Calgary Humane Society" for all those lost in the industrial park. Even less so, it lent itself to the thoughts of solitude and fleeting love.

"Oh, it's a wonderful location!" Alyssa enthused, leaning against the reception desk. "We have lots of green space to walk the dogs, and the floor space is great too. Well, come on in, I will take you to see the kittens."

"Wonderful..." Mike trotted behind her past the glass-walled room allocated to the dogs. She was chatting about the space, and the light and the kittens.

A shaggy black pooch with long ears, but a cropped tail sat in the middle of it. Hearing Alyssa's voice, it turned its long muzzle towards them. The liquid eyes under the brown brows followed Mike, unblinking. Involuntarily, he slowed down, and turned to look back at the dog.

"Hey, Toby," Alyssa said to the dog. It wagged its short stubby tail, squealing with excitement. "I'll come play with you in a few. Come on, Mike, that door over there."

"Ah, yes..."

She led him to a long room with the chest-high row of double-stacked cages. There was a cage with kittens in perpetual motion, gray and red tabbies, labeled half-feral rescue. A plump white and brown matron watched the world behind the bars with distaste. A skinny red tabby batted a ball around his cage. A black feather of a tail hang down from the upholstered perch occupied by a napping ball of fur.

"Take a look around. There is a disinfectant stand in the corner. Call me if you want to cuddle one of them to see if you have chemistry."

"Ah. Yes. Chemistry..." Pair chemistry, Daya wrote about it... with that Sorokin fellow.

Mike shook his head and looked at the cats obediently. Most of them didn't return his gaze.

Despite her instructions, Alyssa didn't leave. She sat on a round stool in one corner and watched him with the same smile she gave the cats. But she kept quiet.

Mike walked along the cages, discovering more cats, tabby, tortoiseshell, another dull-white with splotches of brown, a black one with a white sock and bashful yellow eyes. The cats were cats, but Alyssa's gaze between his shoulder blades made him shiver.

"You must buy new clothes soon, everything hangs on you," she said. Did he expect her to stay silent for long?

"I am aware." Mike put his palm to the cage's wall, and the big cat rolled around to press his back to it.

Alyssa sauntered over. "Want to hold him?"

Not particularly, but Alyssa was already unlocking the cage. Mike threw the cat an apologetic look over her bent back.

We'll have to do that for her, buddy. Don't bite me, okay?  To Alyssa he said, "Sure."

"Here you go."

Loaded with twenty pounds of fur-wrapped muscle, Mike held his breath. The cat rolled in his arms, showing off darker spirals on the lighter orange coat, and vibrated with near-deafening purr. He was a prime specimen of feline species, not to mention a decent supply of meat in case of a zombie attack. "Is his name Garfield?"

"Nope, this is Ginger. Just look at you! Ginger with ginger, you're made for one another!" Alyssa clapped her hands soundlessly, to avoid spooking the other cats. She seemed so delighted by the success of her matchmaking, it was cruel to disappoint her.

"Actually..." Mike dislodged Ginger and replaced him in his cage. The cat turned his head to stare at him for three seconds, then placed it down on the wide paws. The rejection was mutual. "Actually, could I visit with that dog, Toby?"

Alyssa rolled back, she was so surprised. "Toby? Oh, of course. But, Mike, a dog takes a lot more care than a cat. You need to take him out for walks..."

"That's a good thing." Mike sanitized his hands and walked to the dog's enclosure.

"And he's seven, getting on in years, so his vet bills will be hefty. His owner had passed away and her children didn't want a dog..." Her sensible shoes did not make clicking noises, but her footfalls sounded rushed. He slowed down to let her catch up.

Toby turned on the spot to give Alyssa a hurt look. He got over it quick though, and trotted over, wiggling like a silk-coated caterpillar. Alyssa opened the gate for Mike to walk in. Toby plopped down, his tail thumping against the floor, and smiled at him.

"He... smiled? Or is he scowling?" Mike asked his domesticated animal expert, kneeling in front of Toby.

"Smiled. Spaniels do that. They also piddle on the floor whenever they screw up or an exciting thought crosses their mind."

Mike chuckled, running his fingers over the silky ear. "That's relatable." You should have seen me restarting the letter to Daya for the eleventh time, pooch. It would make you instantly feel better.

The dog put his paws on Mike's knee and looked closely into his face, panting. His tongue lolled like a pink flag. He didn't enjoy being left alone in the CHS either, after his lady walked away to the boundless green fields of the Everafter province and never returned.

"Yes, you are coming with me, little buddy." Mike turned to Alyssa. "What do I need to do to adopt him?"

"We'll need to fill out paperwork, to make sure you can take care of a dog. To start with, does your condo allow you to have a dog?"

"They're okay with small animals, and he's small."

"Cockers are a sporting breed, but he's as close to toy breeds as they come." Alyssa took him to the office to inform him of the many challenges of the dog ownership and examine his qualifications for having one. He could have spawned twenty kids from his loins with less scrutiny than adopting one dog. The less I think about spawning, the better.

Finally, Alyssa got him to sign a bunch of papers and pay the adoption fee.

"Here is a checklist of things you'll need." There was a store in the front, but he had a feeling it would be more economical to get all that stuff in Walmart.

"Toby's dowry." Mike folded the list and stuffed it into the newly roomy back pocket of his jeans. "Let's go get my dog."

Alyssa shook her head in astonishment. "I still can't believe you're a dog person. I was so sure you'd be into cats."

"The cats are wonderful, Alyssa, but there is just something I like about Toby."

She gave him the look. As the product of the halls of higher learning, she got him.

A cat meant deepening their relationship and him leaving behind that feverish winter love. Like getting over the flu.

The dog meant... who knows what the dog meant save that Toby was good people and spotted Mike right away as a kindred loyal spirit.

"Well, if you need a hand..." Alyssa tried a last ditch effort.

"I'll be fine, don't worry."

He really was sorry, but Daya said, I miss you.

And he had a foreboding that his relationship with Daya would differ from the loves that came before... he didn't want another round of what he had had before...

A flash of excitement, a satisfaction of not being alone... then little by little, boredom creeping in—that was the routine, comfortable in its repetitive nature. Or disappointment at being rejected, a flash of resentment... then little by little, boredom.

Daya and boredom didn't go together.

Yes, Mother, we're too different, and that's why it doesn't work. But that's also why it's the only thing that could work. I would pick heartbreak over boredom every time... so, you see, my choices are Daya or solitude.

Mike collected his bundle of fur and barks, a small sample bag of dog food, and a stack of paperwork half an inch thick. Such was his lot in life—carry around a mountain of  papers...

Toby spent the ride to Walmart watching the world go by out of the car window; he slept in a comfy knot while Mike shopped for a bed, toys, kibble and the all important plastic doo-doo baggies.

However, the moment Mike sat himself to the latest of the obscure games imitating the glorious 1999 vintage, Toby dragged his leash into the living room and deposited it by his feet.

"What, you want out again already? But we just came back in." Plus, he gave Toby a tour of his palazzo, which had to have counted as exercise.

Toby tilted his head, so Mike could see his pleading eyes better. The stub of the tail typed the petition on the carpet. Let's go play, my beloved human.

"Pond walk it is. Perhaps, you can compose a letter to a lovely lady who used to live here," Mike said, clipping the leash to the collar.

Under the gentle sun of May, and with a smiling dog for company, the icy fingers squeezing his heart didn't let go. But they eased off just a little.

"She's tired, yes, but she is texting... and that's beautiful. Maybe I don't really have to understand what's up with those lutzes and throws. Maybe I just have to say you got it, my love, and I miss you too. What do you think?"

Toby stuck his wet nose into his knee, whining for the squeaky red ball that rested in Mike's hand for too long. He tossed it and watched the old dog do the oldest trick in the book.

Dogs... the friends of active pursuits and steadfast lovers.