How to Find Love in the Newspaper

(continued)

By Anna Sykora

Phyllis found Wolfgang Amadeus of Cuttlestone at a show in Madison Square Garden. "Isn't he gorgeous?" She showed Cathy a photo of the golden-eyed, long-maned stud. "Almost makes me wish I was a cat." His contract ran four pages. As soon as Dawn began emitting blood-freezing cries, and crawling around the apartment, Cathy made a date for her.

Wolfgang's apartment was carpeted in pink shag, and his trophy cups and ribbons adorned an entire wall. The members of his harem lounged on cushions or glowered from corners. Released from her carrier, Dawn skittered under the coffee table.

"Wolfie, you've got a new girlfriend," burbled Mrs. Rigatoni. Rising from his armchair, the stud stretched himself high, then leaped to the floor. Half his size, Dawn hissed in his face; and turning his back he started grooming his paws.

"We'll do our best," vowed Mr. Rigatoni, who owned a plumbing supply.

Cathy made herself wait until Sunday to phone. "Good you waited," said Mrs. Rigatoni. "Her heat went cold, and she hissed at poor Wolfie all day yesterday. We had to put a sleeping bag in his tub and lock them in together. This morning we found them cuddled in the bag, and he was licking her face. I know you'll have beautiful kittens; Wolfie has fathered over eight hundred."

Home again, Dawn, whose fur looked shiny, yawned and purred. "So you liked your wild weekend?" Cathy stroked her head. "Sorry it has to last you the rest of your life."

Rob's invitation overlapped the birth of the kittens two months later. His brother, the vet, had space in his kennel. Cathy, who'd readied a birthing box, agreed to leave the delivery to experts; but Dawn's green eyes reproached her when she placed her, grossly swollen, into her carrier.

She let Rob drive the cat to Teaneck, while she finished packing for Palm Beach. "What a traitor I am," she muttered.

She'd yearned for this weekend like a private pint of rum-raisin ice cream. Friday and Saturday they gorged on each other, and kept ordering pizza. Soon they ran out of things to say. Showering, while Rob fussed with the TV at the end of the king-sized bed, Cathy felt stuffed, not satisfied, as if she'd been binging on junk food.

He wanted to watch the movie Patton over again: "See how that dog comes back at the end? I can't figure out that white dog."

By Sunday her whole body complained. Pawing through the bathroom cabinet, she found a pair of lace panties stuffed behind the Alka-Seltzer. Irked, she put them back. And why did the name on the condo's door read, "O. Keane?"

Rob wanted to eat brunch at the Breakers. "This was worth the trip," she exclaimed, eying the colored marble in the hotel's grandiose lobby. He shook his head no.

Chilly, they tried to sit outside and enjoy the view of the sea. Resettled inside, among elderly couples in designer loafers and tennis bracelets, they ordered the Eggs Benedict, which came cold.

He yelled when she spilled her orange juice, and he scolded her for talking too much while she planned their next vacation, in the south of France. This is not what I wanted, she thought, nibbling her dry toast. I can't cope with his moods.

After three cups of thickly sugared black coffee, he confessed he'd fallen behind on the Porsche's lease, and been put on probation at work for trading too much on his own account. The condo really belonged to his father, and to book it, he'd claimed they were engaged.

"I don't mind so much, honey," she lied. "But why did you ever write that you were ready for a one-to-one relationship?"

"I thought I was."

"You'll give us a chance?" He nodded, looking away.

"She hasn't had her kittens yet," the assistant reported sadly. "And she wouldn't eat much of the special food you left."

"That's terrible!" Cathy followed her into a long room of stacked cages.

"Mreow." Dawn pressed her face against the bars.

"Poor baby." Cathy started to cry. Pulling open the door, she gathered up the cat, who instantly started to purr. How lumpy Dawn felt, how delicate the ribs beneath her silky fur.

Rob was waiting outside in the Porsche, listening to the Talking Heads. He drove back to Manhattan, using his radar detector to speed. Dawn kept meowing from her carrier in Cathy's lap.

"What's wrong with her?" he demanded.

"Maybe she's just happy to see me." But the cries grew piercing in the Holland Tunnel, and Cathy felt inside the carrier. "I think her water broke."

"We leave her safe with the vet, and she waits for the Tunnel to give birth?"

"I'll take care of you, baby," Cathy soothed, as Dawn pressed her cold nose into her hand.

She arranged her best towels in the birthing box, and offered Dawn food and water, who greedily drank, but wouldn't eat a bite. Her weight had all shifted down and back.

The cat's cries irritated Rob. When they ordered in Chinese, he gulped his food. "Women love a drama," he muttered, pecking Cathy's cheek at the door.

"She knows what to do. I'll call you later."

"Please, tomorrow. I need my sleep."