Ruth had been separated from her husband for almost two weeks when her pets began talking to her.
It happened suddenly one Thursday evening, while Ruth was sniffling in front of an ER rerun. She had intended on pampering herself with curried chicken for dinner, but she couldn't get the damn jar of curry sauce open, and that had reminded her that Peter was gone. So she ended up sobbing over a bowl of dry cornflakes (she'd forgotten to buy milk), gazing at the television through bleary eyes. Her Saint Bernard, Johnny, lay beside her on the couch, resting his head on her thigh, while Brandy the cat stared at her from the windowsill.
"You know, he's really not worth it," said a deep voice.
Ruth jumped up, startled, but there was nobody in the room but her and the animals. Johnny jumped up too, and stood facing her.
"When he used to take me to the park, he'd flirt with all the girls there. And he'd never let me check out any really interesting smells, like you do." There was no question about it; although his mouth hadn't moved, the voice had come from Johnny.
Before Ruth had a chance to respond, a new voice joined the conversation, this one higher-pitched and almost sibilant. "Yesss. And when you went out of town, he never fed us enough." This was Brandy, of course, whose violet eyes shone reproachfully at the memory.
"But, but…," stammered the woman. "You're talking!"
"We've always talked to you," the dog replied. "You just never listened before. Now could you let me out? I've really gotta pee."
Not knowing how else to respond, Ruth walked to the sliding glass door and pulled it open.
"Thanks!" Johnny marched through the door, tail wagging. Ruth stood for a minute, watching him sniff out his favorite spots in the backyard. Suddenly embarrassed, she turned her back to the door until she heard Johnny's nails clicking on the patio. Silently, she let him in again, then walked to the pantry and pulled out his customary dog biscuit. As always, he took it gently from her hand and trotted off to eat it on his bed.
Then Ruth noticed that Brandy was still staring at her, so she poured a few kitty kibbles into her dish. The cat hopped down from the windowsill and hurried over, purring loudly. Ruth just watched her eat. A few minutes later, as Brandy ran her tongue across her cream and white flank, Ruth heard her voice again.
"You know, I did notice that we'd switched to diet cat food a couple months ago. I really don't think that's necessary, and frankly," Brandy paused for a moment to preen a whisker, "it's not very satisfying."
Johnny butted in amiably from across the room, "Yeah? Well you should try choking down Science Diet while the humans are eating the good stuff, like McDonalds. And I haven't even had any good table scraps since Mom turned vegetarian. He wouldn't ever give me any of his food at all."
Ruth suddenly remembered Peter again, and what the animals had said about him. "Did you really not like Peter?" she asked.
Brandy responded at once, coldly. "Really." But, then, she and Peter never had gotten along. Ruth already had the cat when she and Peter moved in together, and the two had never quite made their peace with each other. But Johnny? Peter was the one who picked him out from among his six bouncing, drooling littermates, while Ruth simply watched, happy to go home with any puppy.
"Well," Johnny said, diplomatically, "he did give good ear rubs. But yours are much better." He jumped up and ran over to Ruth, panting happily. Obligingly, she massaged his soft ears for a few moments. Then, not knowing what else to talk about, she decided to go to bed. She turned off the TV and put her dishes in the dishwasher (Peter never did that, either, she thought to herself), and went upstairs. The animals followed.
Finding herself shy, Ruth changed into her nightshirt in the bathroom, even closing the door. But when she climbed into bed, Johnny immediately climbed in too, taking Peter's place as he had for the past two weeks. Almost immediately, the dog began snoring, which reminded Ruth again of her husband. But Brandy had already curled up on Ruth's other side, and so the woman commanded herself not to cry. For the first time in a long while, Ruth fell asleep dry-eyed.
At 6:30 the next morning, Ruth woke to find a pair of blue eyes inches from hers. The cat spoke to her the moment her eyelids fluttered: "As long as you're up, how about some breakfassst?"
Johnny immediately jumped up and stuck his cold, wet nose in her face. "Morning! I gotta go out." He gave Ruth a big kiss across the side of her face, subjecting her to morning doggy breath. Then he jumped off the bed, stepping on her right leg in the process.
Groggily pulling on a pair of sweats, Ruth reflected that talking pets might be a mixed blessing.
At work that day, Ruth tried to take her mind off both Peter and the animals. Fortunately, she had a complicated change of venue motion to work on, and a reply brief that was due in a few days, so she found herself preoccupied for most of the day. It wasn't until she took a late lunch at the café across the street that her thoughts turned homeward. Just as she felt a headache coming on, her friend Samantha sat down at the seat across from her.
"You look like you've been working too hard on that Scroggins case," Sam said. Ruth watched enviously as her friend unloaded the contents of her tray onto the table: a huge focaccia sandwich, potato salad, a slab of cheesecake, and a gallon or so of Coke. She glanced at her own small salad, cup of tomato soup, and iced tea, then sighed quietly as she looked back at Sam with her perfect figure and blonde good looks. Sam was smart, too, and a hell of a good lawyer, and Ruth had been all set to hate her when they met in law school. But they had all their classes together their first year, and Sam turned out to be a perfect study partner. They had worked well together when they clerked that first summer at Johnson, Morris. Ruth was very pleased when they both accepted associate positions there their senior year. Now, five years later, they were good friends.
The only real impediment to their friendship turned out to be Peter. He'd been in their class, too, and when Ruth started dating him, Sam had tried to discourage her with the rumors shed hear from the other 1Ls. When Ruth announced their engagement, Sam actually presented her with a written brief and oral argument to dissuade her. After the wedding, Sam avoided Peter at social engagements. Even Ruth couldn't avoid noticing that Peter leered openly whenever Sam was around.
"You're not still mooning over him, are you?" Sam demanded through a bite of sandwich. "He's not worth it."
"That's what Johnny said." It had slipped out before Ruth could stop it.
"Johnny who? You mean to tell me you've been seeing someone without telling me?"
"No…" Ruth toyed with her soupspoon. She wasn't sure she wanted to tell Sam about last night. On the other hand, it might distract her from making her daily Peter's a Loser and You're Better off without Him speech. Ruth knew her friend meant well by it, but it usually only made her more miserable.
Determinedly, Ruth put the soupspoon down and pushed a strand of curly black hair off of her face. "I meant my dog, Johnny. Last night he and the cat told me they don't like Peter much, either. Johnny said he flirted with girls when they went for walks." She stared at Sam, waiting for a reaction.
Sam waited a moment. "Well, that certainly sounds like Peter."
Suddenly, both of them were laughing so hard that Ruth knocked over her iced tea glass. Luckily, it was almost empty, but the startled looks from the diners nearby only made the women laugh harder.
Finally, though, the guffaws subsided into occasional giggles, and Sam began to attack her cheesecake. "Hey!" she cried, fork in mid-air. "Why not come over tonight and see if you can talk to Max, too?" Max was her slightly hyperactive black Labrador retriever. "I'll make us some spaghetti or something."
"Sure, why not?" It beat another night of reruns and dry cereal.
After work, Ruth stopped at the store and then hurried home. She kicked off her high heels and threw her suit onto the bed, and slipped on jeans and a T-shirt. With a flourish, she pulled out from a grocery sack a big bag of non-diet Friskies. Filling Brandy's dish, she asked, "You do like ocean fish flavor, don't you?"
"Mmmm." Brandy purred. "It's my favorite." She enthusiastically attacked her dinner.
Johnny was looking at her expectantly, too, so Ruth pulled out another package, this one containing a pound and a half of ground round. "Wow! Thanks!" he enthused, and barked. Ruth let him outside while she browned the beef in a frying pan. By the time she poured the meat into his dish, he was waiting anxiously at the back door.
After the pets had eaten, while Brandy was bathing herself on the kitchen counter and Johnny was gnawing happily at an after-dinner chew hoof, Ruth told them she was going over to Sam's for a few hours. They were a little disappointed, but she placated them by leaving the TV on Animal Planet, and promising a walk for Johnny and catnip for Brandy when she returned home.
She arrived at Sam's ten minutes later. When Sam opened the door, Ruth was greeted by the delicious smell of garlic sautéed in olive oil. Max barked once or twice, then threw himself at Ruth's feet, front paw raised in expectation of a tummy rub.
"Well, you might at least let her in the door," Sam laughed as Ruth handed her the bottle of wine shed brought.
"Sorry!" Max jumped, up, grinning, and allowed Ruth to collapse on the couch. Then he plopped himself down in front of her again. "I thought we were having company ‘cause Mom moved all her piles of stuff into the bedroom. Cool! Hey, why didn't you bring Johnny, too? And what is the deal with the cat I always smell on you? Could you bring her sometime, too?"
Ruth smiled and looked at Sam, who stood in the kitchen doorway, gaping. But before either woman could say anything, Max went on. "Hey! Mom's making spaghetti and garlic bread and do you think I can have some too? And while we're waiting for dinner, will you throw my tennis ball for me? Or we could go outside and play Frisbee. Or play with the hose. Or—"
"Hold on!" Ruth laughed. "Why don't we stick with the tennis ball for now?"
Max bounded off towards the study, mumbling, "Now, where did I leave that thing? I remember I was using it when the mailman came by…"
Ruth turned to Sam, who was still gawking. "Well, I guess it's not just Johnny and Brandy, is it?" For some reason, she was very pleased that her conversations with her own pets hadn't been a fluke.
Sam finally managed to close her mouth. "Maybe," she said, looking pensive, "Maybe you should just forget about the Scroggins case and hire yourself out as an animal psychic."
A picture flashed into Ruth's mind of herself, dressed in scarves and bangles and layers of brightly colored skirts, sitting in a tent and gazing earnestly over a crystal ball at an anxious toy poodle. A hand-painted sign hung over the entrance to the tent: "Pet Psychic. Tabby Tarot and Puppy Pawreading. Madame Ruth Bolton, Esq." She giggled helplessly as Sam went into the kitchen to finish dinner.
That evening, the women consumed mounds of pasta, and enough wine to get them pleasantly tipsy. They caught each other up on the latest office gossip, and Sam regaled Ruth with the tale of a particularly pompous attorney who had managed to make a fool of himself in front of her, a judge, a jury, and a courtroom full of people. Ruth finally sobered up for the drive home with a bowl of Haagen-Dazs. Before she left, she managed to coax Max into admitting that yes, he was responsible for that mysterious stain in the hallway, but it had been an accident and it wouldn't happen again. Sam showed her forgiveness by letting him lick the ice cream bowls clean.
Ruth slept late the next morning. When her furry companions tried to coax her out of bed at 6:30 again, she made a deal with them: if they let her sleep in on weekends, she promised a can of tuna for Brandy (the real, human-type tuna, not the icky cat kind) and a trip to the park for Johnny.
Luxuriating with the feeling of still being in bed at 10 am, Ruth remembered what weekends used to be like. Peter was a morning person, and he had every minute of every weekend planned ahead of time, from rising at 7 am Saturday through having sex at 11:30 pm on Sunday. If Ruth protested, or begged for an extra half hour of sleep, her husband was likely to be surly for the entire two days. If she completely refused to get out of bed, he would blast the stereo at full volume, or remember an urgent carpentry job that had to be done outside the bedroom window, or find a sporting event on TV to shout at. Eventually, she always gave in.
Today, though, she didn't get up until her stomach started clamoring for brunch. Then she made a big pile of french toast, which she shared with the dog as she read the newspaper. When she was finished, she left the paper in a syrup-sticky disarray across the kitchen table, which would have annoyed Peter. He liked the paper to be folded neatly, in the proper order, but with the sales circulars removed and placed in the recycling bin.
After taking Johnny on his promised walk to the park, she tried to get some work done on that reply brief. The pets distracted her, though: Brandy was keeping a running commentary on the nature program that Ruth had found for her to watch (evidently, she had strong opinions about hyenas), and Johnny came over every few minutes to tell Ruth he loved her. With a sigh, she shut down her laptop and pushed her notes back into their manila folders.
She draped herself comfortably on the couch, and Brandy immediately ran to her and settled in her lap. "Okay, I've got some questions for you two I've always wanted to ask. Let's start with you, Johnny. Why is it that you eat grass when you know perfectly well that it's going to make you puke?"
Johnny looked puzzled for a moment. "I dunno. How come you drink beer when you know it's going to give you a headache the next day?"
Ruth didn't have an answer for that. "Okay," she countered, "why do you bark at the mailman every day when he's never done anything to you?"
But Johnny had a quick reply: "Probably for the same reason you yell at the MCI and AT&T salespeople when they call."
She decided to change her approach. "Brandy." The cat languidly opened her eyes. "Sometimes you suddenly stare intently at nothing, and then run off into another room. Why? What do you see?" But the only response she received was a moment's steady gaze from the cat. Then Brandy closed her eyes again and resumed her quiet purring.
Ruth had one last question before she gave up. "Johnny, what are you dreaming about when you twitch your legs and bark in your sleep? Chasing rabbits?"
"Rabbits? Why rabbits? I've never even seen a rabbit in real life, so why would I dream about them? Nahh. When I'm feeling kind of stressed, I have this recurring dream about trying to rescue you from an avalanche. I try to warn you, but you don't listen. And when I run over to save you, I'm never quite fast enough. It's pretty upsetting."
"I'd imagine so," Ruth sympathized. It had never really occurred to her how seriously her dog might take his role as her protector. She thought about asking Brandy about her dreams, but she saw the wicked gleam showing through the cat's slightly slitted eyelids. She remembered what Brandy had done with the mouse she'd caught last year, and decided she'd rather not know what passed through a sleeping cat's mind.
"Isn't there anything you two have been dying to ask me?" Brandy just continued purring, and Johnny shook his body, which Ruth decided might be the canine equivalent of a shrug. It dawned on her that animals weren't really all that interested in the foibles of their humans.
Ruth sighed again. "Okay, guys, what would you really like to do right now?"
The animals answered in unison: "Take a nap!"
So Ruth curled up on the couch with Johnny at the other end and Brandy in a ball under her arm.
On Sunday, Ruth had finally managed to get deeply into her brief when the phone rang. She wasn't very surprised to discover that it was Peter.
"Hi, hon," he chirped. She gritted her teeth: hadn't he lost the right to use endearments when he moved out? "How've you been?"
"Fine," she muttered, trying not to let him know he'd already pissed her off. In recent months, he seemed to revel whenever he was able to push her buttons.
"Uh-huh. Well, things have been really hectic for me lately at work. I'm prosecuting that double homicide case, you know? You probably read about it in the papers. That guy who killed his tenants?"
Was he really calling to just to boast, she wondered. She decided to keep silent.
"Yeah, well, anyway." He sounded slightly deflated. "Umm, I think I left some of my stuff in the garage. Could I come over today and get it?"
She decided she didn't feel up to facing him. "No, not today. I've got a lot of work to do and I don't have time to deal with this now. How about later this week?" She smiled at Johnny, who seemed to be following the conversation. He wagged back. Then she had a thought. "Or I'll tell you what, Peter. I'll drag your things out of the garage for you and leave them on the front porch. Then you can just come get them whenever."
There was a slight pause. While she listened to the slightly scratchy silence, Ruth doodled a smiley face with fangs in the margin of the brief's draft. Finally, her husband replied with a slight whine, "Yeah, well, the thing was, I was kind of hoping I could see the dog for a little while. I bet he misses me!"
"Actually, he told me the other day he doesn't think that much of you. He says you don't let him smell anything at the park. And you flirt with the girls."
The silence at the other end of the phone was longer this time. Ruth pictured the puzzled look that must be on Peter's handsome face. He was probably scratching lightly under his right eye, as he usually did when confused. "Johnny told you this?" he asked.
"Yes. And Brandy says she's really glad you're gone," she couldn't help adding smugly.
"You're talking to the animals now?"
"Of course. And they're talking to me."
"The stress of my leaving you must really be getting to you. You should see a shrink."
"Actually, Peter, you might recall that you didn't leave me. I threw you out. And I'm much less stressed with you gone." It was only after she said this that Ruth realized it was true. Even the crying jags were better than the constant bickering. "Anyway, I'm perfectly sane. Friday I spent the whole evening with Sam, talking to her dog, Max. So I have witness."
"Yeah, well, that's assuming she's not crazy too," he retorted.
There were a lot of reasons for their separation: his roving eyes, both their busy work schedules, and, especially, what they had discovered to be their very differing goals in life. But now Ruth realized that what made their marriage completely unworkable was Peter's lack of confidence in her. He constantly challenged her opinions, belittled her emotions, and refused to accept her assertions without proof. His automatic dismissal of her newfound talent didn't surprise her; it only struck the same familiar chord in her heart.
"Peter, your stuff will be waiting for you on the porch this afternoon." Before he could answer, she hung up.
She expected that he would start crying again, but instead found herself dry-eyed. And it wasn't sadness she was feeling, or self-pity, but anger. How dare Peter assume he could continue to intrude himself on her life and subject her to the same behaviors that had ended their marriage!
With Johnny's help, Ruth scouted the garage for her husband's remaining belongings: a few tools, some car care supplies, and a cardboard box marked "Sports Eqp.", which probably hadn't been opened since he graduated from college. When Peter came by a few hours later, he found his things piled haphazardly on the porch. But Ruth was gone, having taken an ecstatic Johnny on an impromptu drive to the coast.
For the next few weeks, Ruth felt driven by a wave of energy and power. She wrote a scathing reply brief and a change of venue motion that received accolades from her colleagues on its rhetorical strengths. She bought a new couch, and gave the old one, which Peter had chosen, to Goodwill. She joined a gym, and worked out for a half-hour after work every day. She thought about trading in her sensible sedan for a flashy convertible. She even flirted a little with one of the opposing lawyers in the Scroggins case.
Meanwhile, word of her new talent had somehow spread around the office. So on Tuesday, she had dinner with the family of one of the firm's junior partners. With her help, the Bateses learned that their miniature schnauzer kept peeing on the living room carpet because she was jealous over the attention being given to the newest Bates baby. On Wednesday, a quick lunchtime trip to a paralegal's home confirmed that her turtle really preferred a vegetarian diet, and on the following Monday, Ruth mediated a spat between a secretary and the secretary's girlfriend's Siamese. The managing partner had to circulate a memo, reminding employees that animals were really not welcome at the office, except for those under the rubric of the Americans with Disabilities Act.
Peter called several times, leaving messages on Ruth's answering machine about needing to get together with her to work out the legal details. Ruth didn't return them. She pictured herself striding into a courtroom with Patrice Malcolm, the best divorce attorney in the county, at her side. Peter would be arrogant enough to represent himself. In the end, the woman judge would reduce him to tears as she awarded Ruth everything they owned, plus a huge monthly alimony payment. But Ruth would coldly refuse the alimony just so she wouldn't have to deal with him again. In the end, she would stalk out of the courtroom without even looking at him, and Peter would be left sobbing her name.
One morning, Ruth ran into Sam by the Federal Reporters in the firm library, and she described her mental scenario. "I can just picture the look on his face!" Sam chortled appreciatively. "But how long do you really plan on avoiding talking to him?"
"I don't know. I guess eventually I'm going to have to deal with him."
"Well, I think you should leave him hanging a little longer. Make him wonder what you're up to." Then they noticed that one of the clerks was staring at them openly from the other side of the bookcase, and they both smiled at him, a little maliciously. He quickly stuck his head back into his book.
Ruth found herself so busy that she actually had little time for conversations with her own pets. But Brandy and Johnny didn't seem to mind just dozing beside her as she typed away at her computer.
One Friday afternoon, though, she came home from the gym to find yet another message from Peter. She was surprised to realize that, while his tone was urgent, he didn't sound angry. Suddenly, she felt completely drained, and she collapsed on the new couch, still wearing her sweaty workout clothes. She closed her eyes for a minute, but opened them again when she heard a scuffle in the next room. She sighed and got up to investigate.
She saw that Brandy was alternately creeping and lunging across the dining room floor. Johnny, on the other hand, was repeatedly snapping his jaws in mid-air, while the plumes of his tail threatened to knock her grandmother's china off of the breakfront. There was no other furniture in the dining room. Ruth had always assumed that it would be converted into a study anyway, when she and Peter had kids, and the current study would become the children's room. But then Peter had insisted that children would cramp their lifestyle, which had precipitated some of the fights that led to their separation.
Suddenly, Johnny dashed by, stomping on Ruth's foot as he passed. "What are you two doing?" she cried.
Brandy ignored her, continuing a slow stalk across the carpet, but the dog trotted happily back to her. "We're chasing a fly! It's a big one!" And he licked his lips.
Brandy growled, "It would be a lot easier for me to do my job if a certain big lummoxy beast would get out of my way." Then she suddenly threw herself against the wall, leaping to what seemed to Ruth to be an impossible height. When she landed, Ruth saw she had the insect trapped beneath her paw.
"Cool! Air Brandy!" Johnny grinned.
Ruth sat down on the floor and watched the cat alternate between gently batting the crippled fly, and not so gently whacking the Saint Bernard's big nose, as Johnny tried to join in the fun. Finally, the fly stopped moving, and Brandy wandered away, bored. Johnny quickly gobbled it, and Ruth had to push him away when he came to her and tried to lick her face.
"Eeeww! Bug breath!" she laughed, and Johnny laughed too. Then he cocked his head slightly, and suddenly ran for the front door at top speed. He danced impatiently at the door, tail moving in complete 360-degree turns.
Ruth peeked through the closed blinds at the front of the house, and saw the cause of Johnny's excitement. Peter's BMW was pulling into the driveway.
As Peter walked toward the house, she considered pretending she wasn't home. But something about the set of his face melted her heart a little: he looked nervous yet determined, very much as he had looked the morning of their wedding. She looked at the dog, who was trying unsuccessfully to turn the doorknob with his nose. "I can see how much you can't stand Peter," she commented dryly.
Johnny grinned at her apologetically, but didn't stop wagging his tail.
The doorbell rang, and Ruth opened the door, but only a few inches.
"Hi." Peter grinned hesitantly.
She muttered something noncommittal.
"I've been trying to get hold of you. Is the answering machine broken?"
"No. I've just been busy."
"Oh." They were both silent for a minute.
Johnny was trying to push by Ruth, and she decided it was silly to have this conversation in the doorway, so she swung the door wide open. The dog flung himself ecstatically at Peter's legs, almost knocking him over, and then threw himself at his feet, front paws in the air. Peter got down on both knees and began rubbing Johnny's chest and burbling baby talk at him.
Watching the two of them, Ruth realized that Johnny had just been trying to make her feel better when he criticized her husband. And then she knew something else: while she'd enjoyed talking with her pets, the animals really hadn't told her anything she didn't already know.
She bent down on Johnny's other side and began petting him, too. Peter grinned over at her almost shyly. "I came to see Johnny, but I was also hoping we could talk about the divorce," he said.
"I know," she replied, and was surprised to find herself smiling back. "We should be able to work out something fair."
Between them, Johnny's tail thumped on the carpet, but he didn't say a word.