Cover Story by Rachel Bailey Page A

looked horrified. “Of course it’s the first. If we’d known that woman’s dog wasn’t spayed, we’d have been much more careful. It doesn’t do his reputation any good, you know.”
    “His reputation?” I looked down at Remington sitting primly on the carpet, the long silky hair above his eyes caught up in a sky-blue ribbon, his glossy coat groomed to perfection.
    “He’s a stud,” Ethel said.
    Oh. Right. A stud. Well, he did seem awfully pleased with himself.
    Ethel passed him a bone-shaped cookie from a plate on the tray. “His ancestry is impeccable and he’s much in demand to sire litters.”
    Apparently also very much in demand with a certain bulldog. “So you’re not excited about the new puppies?”
    Her eyes widened in shock. “Surely you can’t be serious? They’ll be mongrels.”
    Even though I wasn’t a dog person, I thought that was a little harsh. I finished my green tea and set down my cup. “Thanks for the chat and the tea, I’ve got to get back to the office and … ah … ahh,” dammit, “ahhh … fink .” My antihistamines must have worn off.
    Ethel was all concern. “That sounds terrible, dear, have you had it seen to?”
    Not again. “No, it was just a sneeze.”
    She brandished a shortbread cookie at me. “I raised five children through umpteen colds and flus, and that, my dear, was not a sneeze. You should see a doctor about it.”
    I stood, madly searching through my bag for the antihistamine packet, but couldn’t find it. I’d have to stop at my apartment or a drug store on the way to the office. I made my farewells and hastily retreated to the sidewalk, still searching my bag in the vain hope that I had a spare tablet hanging around from an old packet. I was so engrossed in my task, I failed to notice which house I was passing. It all happened so fast. From the shrubs on the right, a black shape flashed toward me. Needle-tipped claws dug into my ankles, then the shape streaked off again toward number five.
    I stifled a scream that was part surprise, part pain. That damn Attackcat had broken skin. I bent down and saw that he’d left five scratches, three parallel lines on one side of my ankle and two on the other. He’d also managed to ladder my stockings but, thankfully, he’d missed my trousers. Those claws would have ripped the cotton.
    “Damn you, Winston, I’ll … ah … ahh … fink .”
    Shaking my head, I rushed over to my car. I managed to get in, but before I could make a getaway, my cell rang. I glanced at the ID, groaned, then answered.
    “Hi, Mom.”
    “Tobi, dahlin’, I saw your little piece on the garden gnomes the other day. Very cute.”
    I gritted my teeth and made my voice even. “It wasn’t cute, it was a waste of newspaper space and a waste of my time.” Too late, I realized my mistake.
    “Well, sugah, if you felt that way, why didn’t you give me a call? What’s the use of having a mother on the board of the publishing company if she can’t pull a few strings every now and then? I’ll just call Kevin—that’s your editor, isn’t it?—and tell him to make better use of my baby’s talents. What would you like to write a little story about? I’m organizing a spectacular fashion show next month to raise money for sick children or something, I’ll tell him to have you cover that instead.”
    “Mother.” Was there any use telling her that a journalist would have written countless articles by then? No, probably not. “Mother,” I began more softly. “Please don’t call Kevin, everything at work is fine.”
    “If you’re sure …”
    I squeezed my eyes shut. “I am. I … ah … ahh,” dammit, “ahhh … fink .”
    “Tobi, dahlin’, take an antihistamine, will you? You don’t want people seeing your sneezes—you know how unattractive they look.”
    “I will,” I said through a clenched jaw. “Mom, I have to go, I’ll call you later.”
    “Oh, if you must. Ta-ta.”
    I disconnected and beat the cell against my