Tales from Parker Road (Death Barbecues and a Toast Rack) Page 4

  Fluffy Rides Again

  Pete walked into the kitchen holding Fluffy like she was a dead cat.

  ‘What’s wrong with Fluffy?’ I asked.

  ‘She’s dead.’

  ‘She can’t be,’ I said. ‘I saw her five minutes ago pigging down cat food.’

  ‘Yeah. And two minutes ago she was sleeping under the front wheel of my car.’

  ‘You’re joking.’

  ‘Yes, Jeff. I’m joking. This is a fake dead cat I got from the joke shop,’ spat Pete. ‘Of course I’m not bloody joking.’

  I folded my arms and leant against the chipped Formica bench. ‘What do you think Linda’s going to do to you when she finds out you killed her cat?’

  ‘She can’t find out.’

  ‘When she’s back from holiday and yells “Fluffy, where are you?” and a cat fails to ever materialise, she’s going to get suspicious, don’t you think?’

  ‘Oh, Jesus. Why did this have to happen to me?’ said Pete.

  I pointed at Fluffy. ‘Put that thing down. It’s creeping me out.’

  Pete placed Fluffy on the kitchen floor in front of her bowl as if the smell of cheap tinned cat food might revive her.

  ‘We’ll get another cat,’ said Pete. ‘Linda won’t know the difference.’

  ‘It’s a not a bloody hamster. Of course she’ll know the difference,’ I said. ‘And besides, what are the chances of finding a cat with the exact same markings? It’s not like they only come in one colour.’

  ‘Think, Pete, think,’ he muttered to himself as he slammed his hand into his forehead repeatedly.

  Pete stopped hitting himself and looked me straight in the eye.

  ‘I have an idea.’

  I shook my head. ‘Oh crap, here we go,’ I said. ‘I remember the last time you had an idea. You burnt down a house with a faulty barbecue.’

  ‘Hey. There was nothing wrong with that idea,’ Pete said. ‘How was I supposed to know there was a hole in the gas bottle?’

  ‘It wouldn’t have mattered if you were in our backyard and hadn’t thought it would be “really cool” to have a party in an abandoned house.’

  ‘Oh, shut up. There’s going to be no fire involved this time.’

  ‘What’s your big idea, then?’

  ‘When Linda gets home, I’m going to be holding Fluffy halfway through the cat flap,’ said Pete. ‘As soon as Linda sees Fluffy’s bum I pull her through the flap and run off with her. Fluffy then “goes missing” and as far as anyone is concerned that was the last time she was spotted alive.’

  ‘Pete, that’s a fantastic plan.’

  ‘You know, Jeff,’ said Pete, ‘you have a sarcastic streak that not everyone finds appealing.’

  I just stared at him.

  ‘Linda isn’t home for another week. Isn’t Fluffy going to be bloaty and maggoty by then?’ I said.

  Pete stared at the corpse on the floor. ‘I didn’t think of that.’

  ‘We could stick her in the freezer,’ I said.

  ‘There’s no room. We’ve got a bunch of people coming for a barbecue on Saturday and it’s stuffed with sausages.’

  ‘And you think that’s more important than Linda not killing you?’

  ‘I don’t want to eat sausages at every meal for the next week. Do you?’

  I thought about it. ‘Fair enough.’

  ‘Jeff,’ said Pete, ‘what do you know about taxidermy?’

  ‘Oh, you have got to be kidding.’

  ‘No, seriously. Think about it,’ said Pete. ‘You were brought up on a farm. You must have dealt with all sorts of dead things.’

  ‘And do you know how many dead things we had to stuff?’

  Pete’s shoulders dropped. ‘What else can we do?’

  ‘We? When did this become a “we”?’ I said. ‘I didn’t run over anyone’s cat.’

  ‘We’re talking about freezers and taxidermy, Jeff. That makes you an accessory. You’re as guilty as I am.’

  ‘Pete. I am leaving the house now. When I come back I want it sorted. This is your problem.’

  I ignored his protests as I closed the front door behind me.

  I didn’t go far and only made it to the corner coffee shop, where I had two cappuccinos, one latte and a mocha. I only went in for a single drink but I got cornered by our neighbour, Greg. His girlfriend had dumped him and he insisted on telling me all about it.

  When I got back to the house, with a thumping headache and more energy than I needed, I found Pete lying on the couch watching television.

  ‘What’s that smell?’ I said, plopping myself next to Pete.

  Pete pointed across the room.

  My eyes followed his bony finger to the skin of a cat splayed out between the two aerials sitting on top of the TV.

  ‘Jesus, Pete. You actually did it,’ I muttered.

  ‘Yeah. It wasn’t much fun. But it’s done.’

  ‘What did you do with all the icky bits?’ I asked.

  ‘Don’t ask.’

  ‘And what are you going to stuff her with?’

  ‘I’ve been thinking about that and I think I’ll use this,’ Pete said, holding up Mr Cuddles.

  ‘Your teddy bear?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘That’s not cat shaped,’ I said.

  ‘I’ll take some stuffing out. Don’t worry about it.’

  Yeah, right. Don’t worry.

  We sprayed No-More-Flies onto Fluffy’s pelt over the following week. The corpses piled up in front of the TV like slag heaps at a gold mine and we needed three cans of the stuff.

  TV reception was better with Fluffy stretched across the antennas, although that would only last until Linda returned from holiday.

  When Saturday came and we had the barbecue, a few people wrinkled their noses as they entered the house, but everyone was too polite to ask what the smell was.

  Pete decided that once the guests had gone home it was time to finish Fluffy, so he retrieved her skin from the hiding place in his wardrobe and set to work stuffing her with Mr Cuddles.

  I saw the results in the morning and I was sure being full of sausages and beer, especially beer, was not the right frame of mind to be in when stuffing a bear into a cat.

  It didn’t look like a cat. It didn’t look like a bear. It looked like a wombat wearing another wombat.

  It was frightening. And it wasn’t going to fool anyone.

  ‘Pete?’

  ‘Yeah. I know what you’re going to say,’ said Pete, staring at the creature in his hands. ‘But it’s all I’ve got and Linda’s due home any minute.’

  ‘Why don’t you just admit what happened. Could it be worse than what you’re trying to do?’

  ‘No, Jeff,’ said Pete. ‘I’ve come too far. I have to do this.’

  I didn’t like what Pete had done, but he had earned my respect. He was no quitter.

  We heard the sound of a car pulling up and I peeked through the front curtains to see Linda stepping out of a taxi.

  ‘She’s here,’ I hissed at Pete.

  Pete grabbed the Frankenstein’s monster that was once Fluffy and Mr Cuddles and ran to the back kitchen door.

  I could hear him making more noise than the operation warranted and I ran to the kitchen.

  ‘What the hell’s going on?’ I said.

  ‘It won’t fit.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘The bloody thing won’t fit. It’s too bloody big.’

  I tried to remain calm.

  ‘Pete,’ I said, ‘this isn’t the first time you’ve actually tried to put the new and improved Fluffy through the cat flap, is it?’

  ‘Bloody hell, Jeff. That sarcastic streak really is unattractive.’

  As I stared at Pete with a mix of hate and more hate, the sound of keys in a door reached the kitchen.

  ‘Fluffy? Fluffy? Where are you?’ called Linda.

  I waved at Pete to get outside. ‘She’s in here, Linda.’

  ‘Hi, Jeff,’ said Linda as she stepped into the kitchen. She spotted Fluffy’s arse hanging out of the cat flap. ‘Oh, there you are, my precious little pumpkin. Have you missed Mummy?’

  Linda started walking towards the back door with her arms outstretched.

  Fluffy was stuck. Pete pulled and she wouldn’t budge. He pulled again. Linda was getting closer.

  When Linda was a hand away from Fluffy, Pete gave an almighty tug, at which point the safety pins holding her together popped. Pete fell backwards clutching a naked teddy bear, and the skin of a very dead cat fell to the kitchen floor.

  Linda screamed.

  Linda didn’t stop screaming until I’d given her a hefty slap across the face. Then she cried. Linda didn’t stop crying until I’d given her a large vodka. Then she got drunk.

  Pete moved out the next day and Linda needs a drink every time she sees a cat.

  Linda drinks a lot.

  ###

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