Hercules ran up ahead and, assuming he knew where he was going, I took my rats and followed him.
“Wrong way, dork.” Breeze giggled as she sped-walked in front of me cradling something bulky under her shirt. “Follow me, not the dog. He’s never been here before.”
I got a better look at her pregnant belly and it was wiggling. “Tell me that’s not the Chihuahua,” I said.
“Well, it’s not the Saint Bernard.”
In response to my questioning stare, Breeze elaborated. “He’s afraid of the dark. I thought it would keep him from barking. It seemed like a good idea at the time.”
“Huh, okay. And you’re not afraid of disembowelment?”
“I wasn’t until you mentioned it,” she said, a tapestry of emotion passing over her quickly crumbling face. “Although now I’m worrying about disembowelmentANDa double mastectomy so thank you very much.”
Breeze didn’t let the possibility of disfigurement get her down. In fact, she was even more determined to get us all to her place quickly. We’d almost made it too when the back door to the main house opened and, lit up by a 1950’s lantern, the female version of the Brawny paper towel man stepped out on the stoop.
Breeze panicked, shoving both the rats and me into the shrubs. I toppled onto the cage, it’s interwoven metal lattice sturdy enough to prevent me from diving head first into Brangelina’s love den.
“Jesus H. Fuck, Breeze,” I complained, pushing back the branch poking me squarely in the ass.
“Shhh, quiet,” she said, using her pregnant dog belly to shield us from harm.
“Breeze, is that you?” A deep female voice called out.
“Yes, Pat, just me.”
Then, under her breath, she whispered, “And everything you hate, including a carload of pets and a half naked man.”
“I think we can all take solace in the fact Breeze didn’t save the broccoli,” I added quietly.
Breeze struggled to suppress a giggle as she reached behind the bush to smack me. “Shhh.”
“What’s going on out there?” the suspicious woman asked as she attempted to get her lantern light to shine in our direction.
“I wouldn’t come out here, Pat. There’s a huge fire up on the hill. So far we’re safe in this part of town, but there’s a ton of smoke and ash coming our way. It’s super unhealthy. I need to get inside myself. If I were you I’d close all your doors and windows and even duct tape around any openings to keep the toxins from getting inside.”
“Oh, okay. Good idea. Do you want to come in here with me?”
“You’re so sweet. But no. I’m okay. I’ll see you tomorrow, Pat.”
We waited until we heard her door shut before Breeze helped pull me out of the bushes.
“You know,” I said, righting myself. “Being a celebrity and all, I’m kind of an expert at ducking and hiding. I could’ve gotten the job done without the fucking shove into the shrubbery.”
“I know. I’m so sorry. I can’t believe I pushed you. I’m a horrible human being.” She laughed while delivering her apology, which, in turn, made it sound less genuine. Still, I wasn’t holding a grudge. Breeze had proven to be an unpredictable force of nature.
She opened the door to her small cottage and I was nearly knocked over for a second time as Hercules decided he wanted to be the first one over the threshold. Being famous, I was used to a certain protocol when it came to entrances. As in—I was always the first one through any door. But this was Breeze’s world, a place where mammals known for licking their own butts had higher priority than me. And after a lifetime of being number one, I was sort of digging this unexpected kick in the nuts.
I followed Breeze into the darkened room.
“Just put the rats down there on the floor,” she instructed before pulling the little dog out from under her shirt and shoving him into my hands. “Here, take Sweetpea. I’ll go back and get the cat and the fish.”
Of course, how could I forget about the cat in a bag and the fish in a bottle? Yesterday, I would have viewed that entire sentence with contempt, but today I smiled at the absurdity of it all. This was as close to an alternate universe as I was ever going to get.
Extending Sweetpea at arms-length as if he were an alien baby with a poopy diaper, I glanced him over, unsure what Breeze wanted me to do with the little killer. I didn’t plan on holding him indefinitely while she went on a scavenger hunt for the cat and the fish.
The dog wiggled wildly in my hands, twisting his head like a possessed gremlin before employing his razor-sharp teeth to break free. I yelped as he made contact, dropping the vindictive pup into the kitchen sink. As he bared his teeth, growling viciously, I grabbed for the only weapon I could find to defend myself—a pink spatula—and I waved it around in a display of manliness I was glad no one was around to witness.
“Stay back,” I warned, ready to either swat him silly or smear frosting over his elfin body.
