Dead on Arrival By Pete Donald
For Tommy, Mr Frisky was everything. He would feed him, give him water and much to his Mother’s surprise even clean up after him. Best of all for Tommy was watching Mr Frisky race around the carpet in his plastic ball, and running up a head of steam on the wheel in his cage a close second. Mr Frisky was Tommy’s best friend in the whole world.
It was a daily routine that every day after school Tommy would gently place Mr Frisky into his ball and spend the next hour pursuing the hamster throughout the house. But today was different.
Tommy dropped his school bag and ran into the bedroom “Maths was hard, Science harder, but History was cool. We learnt all about the Egyptians.” Tommy liked to inform Mr Frisky of his day’s activities. “Did you know the Egyptians built pyramids, worshipped cats and wrapped their dead in bandages and called them mummies?”
Mr Frisky said nothing.
Tommy found the ball and split it open.
“They lived by the Nile and had lots of Gods too,” Tommy continued as he opened the hamster’s cage. “Mr Frisky?”
There was no movement from inside the cage.
Tommy poked the pile of wood shavings in the corner. “Maaaaammmmm”
Mam explained that Mr Frisky was quite old and that at least he hadn’t suffered.
“I’m doing enough suffering for the both of us,” wailed Tommy.
“We could get another one,” offered Mam.
“No Mam,” protested Tommy “There will never be another Mr Frisky.”
“Well at least we can bury him by the goldfish,” said Mam.
“No way,” spluttered Tommy indignantly. “No worm is making a meal of Mr Frisky.”
“But Tommy.”
“No buts, there’s got to be another way.”
Another way was discovered in the Yellow Pages under ‘T’ for Taxidermists. There was one in town; it was called “Dead on Arrival”.
Mr Frisky had been wrapped in a clean sports sock that gave the resemblance of a shroud and lovingly placed in a shoebox. The short car journey was taken in revered silence. A request from Mam for some music to lighten the trip was countered with a deep serious stare and shake of the head from Tommy.
The inside of the shop was enough to give you nightmares, especially small boys. Sightless eyes bored down from every shelf and followed their steps to the shop counter. Tommy instinctively pushed himself into his Mother’s side and she too felt the benefit of her son’s contact.
A set of beaded curtains that hung over a doorway behind the counter opened as a young man appeared through them.
“Good afternoon madam,” he turned to Tommy, “young sir. How can I be of assistance?”
Tommy solemnly laid the shoe box on the counter and removed the lid.
“Poor little fellow.” The shop assistance touched the bridge of his glasses then picked up the sock and removed the hamster. He stroked the fur.
“Can you do what you do, so I don’t have to put him in the ground, ever?” asked Tommy.
“Of course I can,” replied the man. “I will have him ready by the weekend.”
Tommy was so excited. He just couldn’t wait for the weekend. It was going to be like Christmas and birthday all wrapped up as one. Mr Frisky was coming home.
“You do know it won’t be the same,” said Mam.
She was becoming concerned when she had seen Tommy clean out the cage and put in fresh wood shavings. He had also washed Mr Friskys plastic ball.
She rang up the Taxidermist and explained her problem.
“Could you do anything that would make it look alive?” she enquired.
“I was thinking of mounting it on its back legs with the water bottle in its mouth,” said the Taxidermist.
“Is there no way of making it move, you know stick wheels on it and put a motor inside.”
“Can you do that?” asked the shop owner
“I don’t know. You’re the one who stuffs animals for a living.”
“Not really, Mr Frisky is my first job. I took over the business last week from my Uncle.”
Mam sighed, “Well just do what you can.”
The shop owner put down the phone and stared at the hamster. He was quite happy with the work he had done so far. He had washed the fur, dried it and gave it a nice brush. However he had not got round to the skinning bit, nor the spooning out of the inners and as for the popping out of the eyes and replacing them with glass ones. Errgh the eyes, he didn’t even like the idea of touching his own, hence the glasses, no eye contact for him.
He picked up a large tome entitled “Taxidermy Made Easy” and as he did he noticed a piece of paper sticking out the back. The paper was really old, in fact it didn’t feel like paper and the writing on it was something similar to hieroglyphics. He couldn’t make any sense of it except the letters PTO written in biro on the bottom right. On the other side there was an English translation and with it the possibility of a potential solution.
The ancient art of reanimation was explained in precise detail and seemed quite simple. You just inject the corpse with cat blood. But this wasn’t any old cat blood. This blood has to be extracted from the immortal sac located behind the left ear of the sacred Egyptian cat. The manuscript explained that this was where the nine lives of a cat could be found. Kittens were the best source because you could milk four or five lives and still leave enough for the kitten to have a reasonable long life with the remaining ones. Unfortunately the practise had caused the extinction of the sacred cat and only a few samples of the precious elixir were still in existence.
The young taxidermist then remembered a phial he had seen with the moniker Feline Extraction in the drawer next to some syringes. He had seen them many times and thought nothing of them.
He found the glass bottle and gingerly started to extract the watery red liquid into a syringe when a rogue glass eye inexplicably rolled across the tabletop. The shock was so great that he dropped the container it smashed on the hard floor it contents seeped away in the cracks in the tiles. He looked at the small quantity he had successful transferred to the syringe. It would have to do.
Carefully he picked up the hamster corpse in one hand and the syringe in another. After reading the instructions one more time, he estimated where the base of Mr Frisky’s skull was and thrust the needle deep into the brain. Pushing down the plunger he released the life giving fluid into the hamster.
Almost immediately the stiffness of the riga mortis disappeared and Mr Frisky stretched as if waking from a deep sleep and commenced some much need grooming.
The Taxidermist placed the little Lazarus in his cage.
The next day Tommy and his Mam entered the shop. She looked at the shop owner with narrow quizzical eyes that widened to saucers and beyond when Mr Frisky was revealed sitting in the corner of the cage, very much alive, still busily grooming himself.
There was no explanation the Taxidermist had to offer and no charge for his miracle. The delight on Tommy’s face was payment enough and as he had used up the Cat Lives it wasn’t something he could do again.
After they had left the Taxidermist checked the rest of the rules of reanimation. To his horror it stated at the bottom in handwriting more akin to the fine print on a contract DO NOT EXCEED THE MAXIMUM DOSAGE OF ONE DROPLET.
“One droplet” he said to the stuff collection, “there was enough in that syringe for a hundred and one droplets, what have I done?”
Later that day, during dinner, Mam asked Tommy how Mr Frisky was. Tommy looked at her with a sad face.
“He won’t go into his plastic ball any more or play in his wheel. All he wants to do is chase balls of string and he tried to drink some of my milk.
And weirdest of all I’m sure he’s purring.”
THE END
Copyright Pete Donald 2011
http://www.feedbooks.com/userbook/22500/dead-on-arrival to download free to Kindle / iPhone etc
It was a daily routine that every day after school Tommy would gently place Mr Frisky into his ball and spend the next hour pursuing the hamster throughout the house. But today was different.
Tommy dropped his school bag and ran into the bedroom “Maths was hard, Science harder, but History was cool. We learnt all about the Egyptians.” Tommy liked to inform Mr Frisky of his day’s activities. “Did you know the Egyptians built pyramids, worshipped cats and wrapped their dead in bandages and called them mummies?”
Mr Frisky said nothing.
Tommy found the ball and split it open.
“They lived by the Nile and had lots of Gods too,” Tommy continued as he opened the hamster’s cage. “Mr Frisky?”
There was no movement from inside the cage.
Tommy poked the pile of wood shavings in the corner. “Maaaaammmmm”
Mam explained that Mr Frisky was quite old and that at least he hadn’t suffered.
“I’m doing enough suffering for the both of us,” wailed Tommy.
“We could get another one,” offered Mam.
“No Mam,” protested Tommy “There will never be another Mr Frisky.”
“Well at least we can bury him by the goldfish,” said Mam.
“No way,” spluttered Tommy indignantly. “No worm is making a meal of Mr Frisky.”
“But Tommy.”
“No buts, there’s got to be another way.”
Another way was discovered in the Yellow Pages under ‘T’ for Taxidermists. There was one in town; it was called “Dead on Arrival”.
Mr Frisky had been wrapped in a clean sports sock that gave the resemblance of a shroud and lovingly placed in a shoebox. The short car journey was taken in revered silence. A request from Mam for some music to lighten the trip was countered with a deep serious stare and shake of the head from Tommy.
The inside of the shop was enough to give you nightmares, especially small boys. Sightless eyes bored down from every shelf and followed their steps to the shop counter. Tommy instinctively pushed himself into his Mother’s side and she too felt the benefit of her son’s contact.
A set of beaded curtains that hung over a doorway behind the counter opened as a young man appeared through them.
“Good afternoon madam,” he turned to Tommy, “young sir. How can I be of assistance?”
Tommy solemnly laid the shoe box on the counter and removed the lid.
“Poor little fellow.” The shop assistance touched the bridge of his glasses then picked up the sock and removed the hamster. He stroked the fur.
“Can you do what you do, so I don’t have to put him in the ground, ever?” asked Tommy.
“Of course I can,” replied the man. “I will have him ready by the weekend.”
Tommy was so excited. He just couldn’t wait for the weekend. It was going to be like Christmas and birthday all wrapped up as one. Mr Frisky was coming home.
“You do know it won’t be the same,” said Mam.
She was becoming concerned when she had seen Tommy clean out the cage and put in fresh wood shavings. He had also washed Mr Friskys plastic ball.
She rang up the Taxidermist and explained her problem.
“Could you do anything that would make it look alive?” she enquired.
“I was thinking of mounting it on its back legs with the water bottle in its mouth,” said the Taxidermist.
“Is there no way of making it move, you know stick wheels on it and put a motor inside.”
“Can you do that?” asked the shop owner
“I don’t know. You’re the one who stuffs animals for a living.”
“Not really, Mr Frisky is my first job. I took over the business last week from my Uncle.”
Mam sighed, “Well just do what you can.”
The shop owner put down the phone and stared at the hamster. He was quite happy with the work he had done so far. He had washed the fur, dried it and gave it a nice brush. However he had not got round to the skinning bit, nor the spooning out of the inners and as for the popping out of the eyes and replacing them with glass ones. Errgh the eyes, he didn’t even like the idea of touching his own, hence the glasses, no eye contact for him.
He picked up a large tome entitled “Taxidermy Made Easy” and as he did he noticed a piece of paper sticking out the back. The paper was really old, in fact it didn’t feel like paper and the writing on it was something similar to hieroglyphics. He couldn’t make any sense of it except the letters PTO written in biro on the bottom right. On the other side there was an English translation and with it the possibility of a potential solution.
The ancient art of reanimation was explained in precise detail and seemed quite simple. You just inject the corpse with cat blood. But this wasn’t any old cat blood. This blood has to be extracted from the immortal sac located behind the left ear of the sacred Egyptian cat. The manuscript explained that this was where the nine lives of a cat could be found. Kittens were the best source because you could milk four or five lives and still leave enough for the kitten to have a reasonable long life with the remaining ones. Unfortunately the practise had caused the extinction of the sacred cat and only a few samples of the precious elixir were still in existence.
The young taxidermist then remembered a phial he had seen with the moniker Feline Extraction in the drawer next to some syringes. He had seen them many times and thought nothing of them.
He found the glass bottle and gingerly started to extract the watery red liquid into a syringe when a rogue glass eye inexplicably rolled across the tabletop. The shock was so great that he dropped the container it smashed on the hard floor it contents seeped away in the cracks in the tiles. He looked at the small quantity he had successful transferred to the syringe. It would have to do.
Carefully he picked up the hamster corpse in one hand and the syringe in another. After reading the instructions one more time, he estimated where the base of Mr Frisky’s skull was and thrust the needle deep into the brain. Pushing down the plunger he released the life giving fluid into the hamster.
Almost immediately the stiffness of the riga mortis disappeared and Mr Frisky stretched as if waking from a deep sleep and commenced some much need grooming.
The Taxidermist placed the little Lazarus in his cage.
The next day Tommy and his Mam entered the shop. She looked at the shop owner with narrow quizzical eyes that widened to saucers and beyond when Mr Frisky was revealed sitting in the corner of the cage, very much alive, still busily grooming himself.
There was no explanation the Taxidermist had to offer and no charge for his miracle. The delight on Tommy’s face was payment enough and as he had used up the Cat Lives it wasn’t something he could do again.
After they had left the Taxidermist checked the rest of the rules of reanimation. To his horror it stated at the bottom in handwriting more akin to the fine print on a contract DO NOT EXCEED THE MAXIMUM DOSAGE OF ONE DROPLET.
“One droplet” he said to the stuff collection, “there was enough in that syringe for a hundred and one droplets, what have I done?”
Later that day, during dinner, Mam asked Tommy how Mr Frisky was. Tommy looked at her with a sad face.
“He won’t go into his plastic ball any more or play in his wheel. All he wants to do is chase balls of string and he tried to drink some of my milk.
And weirdest of all I’m sure he’s purring.”
THE END
Copyright Pete Donald 2011
http://www.feedbooks.com/userbook/22500/dead-on-arrival to download free to Kindle / iPhone etc