"Coffee?", she asks, no patronizing me with "Sir". I approve. The steaming liquid has my attention until I see past the pot to the splash of russet-red fur. A tasteful figure, but females? Not really my thing. Until her scent wafts my way. Warm, earthy, a hint of spice. Inexplicable pulse-rate increase.

Never a regular, now I find a reason to drop in on my way home, evenings, Monday to Thursday. That's when she's there. "Hey, you!" That mischievous smile. Of course they don't really mean it. Flirting with the customers for bigger tips.

I write my cell number on a napkin, add a cartoon dog, leave it with the folded bill. What would she want with a big, awkward Saint Bearnard who always bumps into things? After the surprise evening clamor of the phone's seldom-heard ringtone, the conversation starts awkwardly. But we warm.

Out of the cafe, out of her uniform apron, the sheen of her fur catches the morning sun in the park by the river. comfortable shorts, shirt just tight enough to show off her perfect proportions. Dogs, what am I doing here? Yet a genuine radiance suffuses her greeting smile.

The satisfied glow of food and a good red wine (wholly appreciated) as we sit down to watch a movie. I might not be able to dance, but I can cook. Her curves and her warm scent draw me closer in the flickering screen-light. Can I? Before I dare to move, she leans towards me, and I find my paws wrapped around her supple form. The film doesn't live up to reviews, and I don't mind at all as she takes one of my paws in hers and examines it. Mine are large, strong, helpless in her delicate grasp.