Daisy Six Feet

Brad looked at the body at his feet, already decomposing, and tried to remember how he had come to this point in his life as he struck the ground with the shovel and lifted his first load of dirt off the ground.

Earlier that day Brad had pulled his car up to a curb, put it in park and stared at the house outside the window. Retaining walls elevated the grounds above the sidewalk making the worn out house look ominous and looming despite the clear sky and bright sun. The number to the side of the large oak door read 3120.

The house definitely didn’t seem to fit with the rest of the gray and beige cookie-cutter development around it. A crumbling picket fence, weathered to a beige and brown with trace flecks of white paint, bordered the yard and toys littered the dead, unkempt grass and flower beds. The blue paint on the house was chipped and peeling, revealing the aged wood that even a termite wouldn’t call home. A porch swing, hanging from one end, rested the other defeated side on the ground.

“This is where nightmares live,” thought Brad with a shiver in his spine. He worried if he stared too long he might glimpse the devil and turn to stone.

The golden knocker resembled a lion with an over-bite, formed out of autumn leaves and holding a large golden loop in its mouth. He took hold of the golden loop, pulled it back with a loud creak and knocked four times. While he waited he examined the ad again, “Free Kittens, two black and white, one orange and one black. 3120 Grimalkin Drive.” A picture of four kittens, matching the description, accompanied the advertisement. Brad checked his watch. Several minutes had passed and there was still no answer. He noticed a doorbell halfway down the door and pushed the button, ding-duh, the chimes stopping short before they could finish their tune. It gave him the feeling like he was watching a slasher-movie alone, but this house wasn’t haunted by anything more than the idea of an underground cocaine warehouse. He pushed the button again, ding-duh.

The door opened suddenly and a short old woman gestured Brad inside with a toothless grin. “I’m here about the cat,” Brad said, a stench resembling what he could only assume was raw oysters and cat urine mixed together hit his nose as he followed the woman through the living room piled high with newspapers and soiled clothing, “I saw the ad in the paper, the one with the picture. There were several kittens for free. The black cat, I’d like the black one.”

The woman persisted in silence through a kitchen. Brad held his nose as he surveyed rotten bananas and moldy cheese in several dishes littering the unmopped floor. The woman went down a set of stairs into a basement. The stairs, much like everything else, were made of rotting wood and he was shocked that they could hold the woman's weight without collapsing. He hesitated to follow, but finally eased his way down the stairs being careful to hold the railing without getting sliver. Once at the bottom he didn’t venture too far away from the stairs.

There was a cardboard box against the opposite wall where the woman stooped over the box and rummaged for a moment. She still hadn't said a word, but Brad stopped trying to usher a conversation from her. Without turning around she pulled a small black kitten from the box and tossed it behind her back at Brad. His heart dropped and he rushed forward, both arms out, barely catching the kitten in one hand. The woman stood still.

“Thank you,” Brad managed to muster repulsively and he backed his way up the stairs.

“That cat will only bring you misery.”

“Excuse me,” Brad stopped on the stairs. The woman remained standing with her back to Brad.

“The devil resides in a black cat.”

“That's creepy,” was all Brad could mumble in response as he finished the staircase. He stopped at the top, turn to the woman again and added, "It’s not for me, it’s for my girlfriend." He departed the house, kitten in hand, as quickly as he could.

A brief drive later, after he had managed to shake off all the eeriness of the house, Brad pulled his car into his girlfriend’s driveway and shut off the ignition. The kitten had sat on his lap the entire way, putting his paws on the steering wheel and meowing at passing cars, as if to mimic Brad’s usual road-rage.

With the kitten in one hand and fumbling the keys in the other Brad was able to slide the correct key into the door and push it open. He wiped his feet and walked through the foyer and into the kitchen, setting the kitten down on the counter between the sink and a shoe box. Brad opened the shoe box and fiddled with its contents. Curiosity helped the kitten put its paws on the rim of the box and lift itself up, it looked into the box and then back up at Brad with its big, sad eyes.

Brad pulled out a pink collar and replaced the lid on the shoe box. “Here you are kitten,” he told the kitten as he fastened the collar around its neck, “your new name is Daisy.” He picked up the kitten with both hands and kissed it on the head, “just don’t tell mommy about Daisy number one, that will be our secret,” and he put Daisy two on the floor and poured her a bowl of milk. He watched her lap up the milk, scrutinizing her for any differences from the original pet. She was a little smaller than the original cat, he thought, probably a week younger. He got down on his hands and knees, head bent directly over the living kitten, and noticed a small white spot on the right ear. He hadn’t noticed it before, but he had been glad it was lacking a penis. Anyway, Heather hadn’t owned her cat long and she was going through a rough patch in her life, she would probably be too preoccupied to notice. Even if she did notice he could say that Daisy was changing as she emerged from a kitten into a cat. Changes were possible in kittens as even the sex of a kitten is indeterminate for several weeks, he convinced himself.

Brad leaned against the counter and watched the kitten, who had finished its saucer of milk and was cleaning its front paws. The white spot stared at him, burning into his skull through his forehead, a tiny reminder of his little white lie.

Brad went around the counter and rummaged through a drawer, he closed it and opened the next drawer and spotted what he was looking for. He pulled out a magic marker and took it back to Daisy two who mewed and yawned as she was picked up. He knelt down and placed her in his lap and she curled, purred, and closed her eyes. He popped the cap off with his teeth and held the ear with one hand while he colored in the white spot. He leaned back and smiled and then rubbed his fingers over his forehead, “I just painted a cat.”

Heather had been given the cat by her twin brother, Harrison, on their birthday. Heather immediately fell in love with Daisy and would yell at Brad every time he tried to shut the kitten out of the bedroom at night. “He keeps attacking my face, I can’t sleep,” Brad would argue. He always lost - arguments and, now, sleep.

Heather's gift for Harrison had been a brown leather watch that Brad had helped pick out and, since he had a better paying job, paid for. It had a black matte casing and the face of the watch was mahogany red with tan numbers. It was modern and very stylish, something that Harrison always seemed to need some help with. It would be a good sturdy watch to wear during the day at work and in the evening if he were to go on a date.

Harrison had liked the watch, putting it on immediately and asking for help winding it, but they never found out if it was as sturdy as it claimed because he was reported missing shortly after that day. The police arrived to question Heather and told her that he had been reported missing by his supervisor. They told her if they found any new information they would inform her, left her a card, and asked her to call if she also heard any news.

Brad rushed over when Heather called to find her sitting on the kitchen floor still clutching the phone in one hand and a shovel in the other hand; she had been in the garden planting a tree when she received the news and the only portion of her not covered in dirt were the tracks under her eyes where the tears had formed and streaked down her face and neck, pooling in apex of her breasts. It was a hard blow to Heather who didn’t have much family. The usual bond you find between twins was strong in Heather and Harrison even though they were very opposite.

Heather was a petite five foot two inches tall blonde who immensely enjoyed gardening, cooking and reading. She was the kind of woman whose stature you would poke fun at until she started talking about her major, mechanical physics, and her intelligence shut you right down. Since her grandfather was paying for her education she was a full time student and often challenged her professors intellectually more than they challenged her.

Harrison was a six foot five dark-haired, broad-shouldered guy who liked explosions and picking fights in church. He preferred strip clubs over book stores. After dropping out of the same university she attended he tried odd construction and handyman jobs here and there until he settled in as the groundskeeper for one of the smaller town cemeteries.

The siblings made a perfect odd couple. Brad, being smart, blonde, and closer to Heather in height was easily confused as Heather’s twin as often as Harrison was confused as being her boyfriend.

A second blow came to Heather less than a week later when she announced that her grandfather was dying of lung cancer and she would need to fly out to his estate immediately to stay with him in his last hours. With Brad’s help she was able to pack her bags without collapsing to the floor in defeated tears before he drove her to the airport and helped her as far through security as he was allowed. He squeezed her tightly and kissed her forehead. She rolled her suitcase behind her and stopped, hesitated, dropped the suitcase and ran back to Brad.

“Please take really good care of Daisy,” her eyes glistened with tears, “If Harrison doesn’t…if he isn’t…” She choked on her words, “she was the last thing he gave me.”

“Don’t worry about Daisy; spend some time with your grandpa. Daisy and I will be here when you get back.”

Daisy one died two days later.

Brad stayed at Heather’s house while she was away, the air conditioning was state of the art making it better than at his apartment. With Heather away he was able to shut Daisy out of the room and sleep peacefully, but was startled awake in the night by a strange shadowy presence. Forgetting he was not at home and drowsy with his dreams he reached onto the night stand and grabbed the large heavy hardback Heather was currently reading. He tossed it at the shadow. A heavy thud and a light whimper brought him into full awareness and he jumped out of bed. He hadn’t closed the door tight enough and Daisy, being scared, lonely and persistent, pushed until she was able to squeeze through.

He tried as hard as he could to resuscitate Daisy, but just wasn’t sure how; it was too late to take her to a vet because she was dead before he could turn the lights on. He avoided burying her because he wanted to find a replacement; if he couldn’t find a replacement and had to admit to Heather what he had done, he wanted to make sure she was there for the burial. He spent the next two days searching local pets stores and newspaper ads for a black kitten around the same size and style when he found the ad with the picture. He put Daisy one into a small shoe box and headed out immediately to see if Daisy two was still available.

Brad watched Daisy two, who had finished the bowl of milk and was now batting at a plastic ring from the top of a milk container. He had gotten lucky, but now it was time to get rid of any evidence. Brad picked up the shoe box and headed out to the backyard.

He would need to bury the box where Heather wouldn’t find it. He couldn’t do it in the grass because she would notice that the grass had been dug up. She frequently dug in the vegetable garden and she may find the box if he buried it there. There were three patches of flower gardens, one that ran all along the outside of the house and one next to the fence bordering the neighbor to the south, but both were too skinny for him to be able to really dig a good hole. The third flower patch was in farthest corner from the house, it was fairly large and Heather hadn’t done much gardening in it yet. The tree she had planted went in the center of this patch and the remainder was bare of flowers. He could dig a hole near the tree and stick the box near the roots, it was a fast growing tree and the roots could quickly grow over and conceal anything below it.

He found the shovel and began to dig close to the base of the tree. The hole would have to be deep enough that no other animal could smell the remains and dig up the dead cat. “How deep do they dig graves,” he asked himself, “six feet?” He dug the shovel deep into the ground and threw the dirt behind him.

What felt like hours went by before Brad felt he had made himself a decent hole. He had to stop once to wet the hard earth that formed below the top soil. He pulled the hose up to the hole and sprayed it down before holding it over himself to soothe his sun scorched face and wash the burning sweat from his eyes. The tree was buried so deep, he wasn’t sure how his tiny girlfriend had planted, let alone lift, it on her own.

The phone rang. He was filthy from head to toe and cleaned his hands up as best as he could to pick up the phone. He took off his shoes and went into the house.

“Hello.”

It was Heather. She cried while she explained that her grandfather had finally passed away that night while she held his hand and stroked his forehead with a damp cloth telling him that she loved him. Though he was conscious what little talk he made was incoherent, but she knew he was happy to have her there in his last moments. Little preparation for a funeral was necessary since Heather and Harrison were the only remaining relative so Heather set it for the following day where only she and some of his house staff would be the only attendees. After that she would come home for a few things and then head back out to sort out his belongings.

"Do you want me to come out there to be with you?"

"No, it's okay, you have work and I'll be fine."

"Do you want me to buy your plane ticket home?"

"You don't need to do that."

"I'd like to," Brad told her.

"No, sweetheart, I mean you really don't have to. Grandpa left me everything, including his private jet. I don't need a place ticket, I just have to notify the airport when I'm planning on leaving. I'll be home the morning after the funeral."

They said their goodbyes and gave their love and he hung up the phone. Daisy two tackled his shoelaces and he bent over, rolled her onto her back and scratched her belly while she wiggled for her freedom. He noticed a small piece of paper sticking out from under a shelf and reached over and took it. Daisy two scampered off while Brad examined the card; it was from the police officer that had come over to discuss Harrison’s disappearance. Brad stuck the card into his back pocket worrying that Heather may need it and not wanting it to get lost.

Brad went back out to the garden and surveyed his hole again. If he dug a little to the south, on the side of the hole, he could bury the box directly under the new tree. He thrust the shovel into the dirt and hit something hard, he heard it crack. He pulled the shovel back and got down onto his belly, reaching down into the hole, he cleared some of the dirt away from the targeted area.

It was the cracked face of a watch, mahogany red with tan numbers and a brown leather band, the color of the dirt he was digging. The color of sun-tanned skin and work worn hands. Brad stood back up, took a deep breath and held his fist to his mouth to hold back his vomit. He put the shoe box containing Daisy one into the space under the roots, next to the broken watch, and set to work at shoveling the dirt back over the hole. A short while later he had finished covering the hole.

In the bathroom mirror he had tear streaks running through the dirt in his face. He washed his face and hands, shook some dirt from his shirt, and put the filthy towels into the washing machine. He gathered all of his things and, putting Daisy two in his car, he drove home. He patted his shirt pocket and looked at the kitten, "Heather is going to be dealing with a lot of changes little kitten," he told her, "I don't think she's ready for the responsibility of owning a pet."