Bethesda, MD
1982
Theodore Amos parked his Ford Escort in the garage of his apartment building when he realized he was out of brown sugar. He was gonna cook those drumsticks in the freezer with Dijon mustard, garlic and barbecue sauce, but without brown sugar in the mixture, the glaze wouldn’t have the sweetness he preferred.
No need to take the car back out. He could walk the four blocks to the ShopRite.
Amos was an attaché to the US ambassador to the Soviet republic of Mazhedistan. Last year, he arranged for the safe passage of fourteen Americans, caught in the middle of the Soviet-Afghanistan war, through Mazhedistan. As a member of his negotiation team during that situation, it made Amos believe détente between America and the USSR might be possible.
In the supermarket, he waited on the express line with an old woman in front of him. She dumped at least a dozen canned goods on the counter in front of the cashier.
“Ten items or less, lady,” he said.
“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t notice.” The crone had already emptied her basket of the cans. “Do you mind?”
“I don’t know, do you mind wasting my time?”
Then again, America and the USSR were run by human beings.
She scowled at Amos and reached into her purse. She paid in exact change and counted out every last penny, of course.
Five minutes later, Amos exited with his brown sugar. While walking down the street in the gathering dark, he heard a mewling from under a hedge. He knelt.
A kitten had injured his leg, probably from trying to cross the street. Amos scrunched his lips at the sight and cooed, stroking his fur. The veterinarian’s office was closed at this hour. No harm in bringing the little guy home.
Assuming Bucky didn’t mind.
Bucky was Dad’s Labrador. Last week, Dad had entered the hospital to have his gallbladder removed, so Bucky had been staying with Amos. How wonderful it would be to have this precious kitten around while he recuperated, along with Bucky. Amos increased his pace.
When he got home, he set the kitten on the couch. Bucky ambled towards him, stopped, and barked repeatedly.
“No, no, Bucky, it’s okay,” said Amos. “He’s only gonna stay the night.”
He frowned. People always said cats and dogs couldn’t get along, but that was bunk. With a little time to adjust to each other’s habits, they could cohabitate fine. Domestic animals like these understood urban environments were different from living in the wild. They required a different mentality. That was why cats and dogs accepted humans the way they did.
That was why they made such great pets.
Amos opened a can of tuna for the kitten and spread the contents on a plate. Bucky sniffed the food and tried to paw at it. The kitten swatted at him, his claws out. Bucky growled.
“That’s his food, Bucky, not yours.” Amos tried to lead the dog away from the couch. “Come here into the kitchen and I’ll give you something to eat.”
Bucky wouldn’t budge—and as the kitten kept clawing, he started to scratch the couch. Wonderful. Amos went to the bathroom and got a towel. He moved the plate and picked up the kitten. Draping the towel over the couch, he placed the kitten atop the towel. Then he moved the plate of tuna back in front of the kitten.
Why was Bucky so drawn to the smell of the tuna? He didn’t like fish as far as Amos knew. He guided the dog towards the kitchen, away from the kitten. Bucky continued to growl. Then Amos remembered: he had put the kitten on Bucky’s favorite spot on the couch.
“He’s not gonna stay here, boy. He’s only here for the night. His leg is hurt.”
Normally, Bucky lived with no other pets. Amos felt certain he could make the two get along, but it became more of a task than he had expected. He dragged the dog into the kitchen. Then he trudged back into the living room, picked up the kitten and placed him on a chair.
“There. God forbid you should sit where Bucky sits.” He set the plate of tuna back in front of the kitten. Now, once he fixed a meal for Bucky, he could finally get to work on those drumsticks. His stomach rumbled.
Once Amos poured kibble into a bowl for Bucky, he placed the drumsticks into the microwave for defrosting. This was like being at work: settling squabbles between bickering nations, struggling to keep the peace. Maybe he was wrong about dogs and cats coexisting?
But whenever the tongue of a dog licked his face, or he felt as well as heard the purr of a cat as it nuzzled in his lap, he grew weak. What could he do?
Soon, he immersed himself in dinner, sautéing vegetables while the drumsticks baked in the oven. So his back was to the animals when a crash came from the living room.
He turned. The lamp fell to the floor. It shattered. Bucky stood next to the remains, his tail wagging. He barked. The kitten limped into the bedroom and ducked under the bed.
It took Amos half the night to get the kitten out. Bucky’s barking woke the neighbors, of course.
In the morning, Amos called in late for work. He dropped the kitten at the veterinarian’s office the minute she opened.
America and the USSR had it easy.