Midnight Doggie

It's past midnight and being in a rush to get to bed, I charge into the elevator and very nearly step on a dog’s tail. “Excuse me!” I say and step aside. The dog, the sole passenger, moves to make room for me. I thank her and say I’ll take the next one. This late at night, I’d never ride an elevator with a strange canine.

When the next car arrives, a man sticks his head out, looks up and down the hall then steps back in. He holds the door open expectantly. Not wanting to be rude I step inside.

He pushes 4, 13, and 21 and offers, “She likes those floors,” as an explanation. I nod politely, push my floor and pray the elevator moves quickly.

At the fourth floor, the man sticks his head out and scans the hall before rejoining me. An empty leash swings from his hand.

“Are you looking for your dog?” I venture not really wanting to start a conversation.

“Yes, have you seen her?”

I tell him I saw his pooch in the other car. The man asks, “If you see her again could you please send her home?”

With no intention of actually following through, I ask him which apartment to bring her to. “Oh,” he scoffs, “she knows the apartment number.”

“Right,” I say.

A dumb look of admiration grows on his face. “You have a beautiful coat,” he offers.

I cringe into the corner of the elevator but there is no escape. His dirty hands are all over me, running up and down my back, under my chin and into the fur on top of my head. Hiss!
After he disembarks, I paw the door close button then meticulously lick myself clean, hawk a furball and wonder how anyone can stand to live in the city, where it’s noisy, smelly and full of overly friendly people who want to pet you.

Elevator guy’s dog is meandering aimlessly around my floor. I tell her to go home and she barks, “Mind your own damn business.”

It’s not bad advice.