Lost and Found
I only looked away for a second.
I was standing on a set of stepladders when Sami got taken. I threw a spanner at the guy who was wearing one of those flimsy rain ponchos. My only available weapon clunked off a lamppost and didn’t even come close to the target. I’ve never been good a throwing. My PE teacher told me that I had a weak arm.
This morning I was ready to get the shop in order. I wanted to make a good impression on my first day looking after it on my own. That’s why I tried to fix the sign. It needs the ‘P’, otherwise people won’t know what we are. Not that there are many pets left to sell. I brought some stuffed toys and was even going to clean all the empty cages. At two o’clock this morning I was still writing little notes to put on them.
If you donate some money, there will be a real animal in this cage by next month. I wrote quite a few of those using different coloured pens.
I look like Andreas, but I’m not him. Andreas died of loneliness. Please donate and don’t let this happen to my brother. A fat red arrow points to Ramses’s cage. The hamsters weren’t really brothers but it gives the message more weight.
I even decorated a bucket for donations, but the balloons attached to the handle are just resting on the counter; a direct result of the lack of helium in my breath.
Poor Sami. He looked at me over the shoulder of Mr Poncho-Arsehole.
It was only after he’d disappeared round the corner that I recognised him. I saw him in the supermarket last week trying to calm his daughter by offering her popping candy. He hadn’t even paid for it yet. As he pushed their trolley, water dripped from his poncho leaving a trail down every aisle. The girl handed the cashier a pile of what looked like home-made posters. Her fingers were stained with ink as she tried to dry the top ones with her hands. If only I had paid more attention.
I place my first toy dog, Fred, next to our family picture on the shelf behind the counter. In the picture I’m chewing on Fred’s ears and have Ted the turtle sitting on my lap. There are only a few real animals left in the shop and Ted is one of them. Although we would never sell him as he was the last animal Dad bought.
Then there’s Harry, a ten year old hairless Siamese cat. Unlike Sami he seems to put customers off, especially children. A beagle puppy versus a bald, wrinkly cat is hardly a fair competition for people’s affection. I removed Harry’s ‘I’m not for sale’ sign from his collar years ago. It’s Mum’s fault that Harry is spoilt. He won’t shut up until he’s had a bowl of custard after his tin of jellied meat cubes. Mum felt sorry for this orphaned, bald kitten left in a box outside the shop.
I look up as the bell above the door makes a faint sound.
“Sami!”
I nearly trip over Harry’s custard as I run towards the door.
Nobody there.
“Sami!”
I notice the bit of paper sticking out from underneath the doormat. The word Lost is scored out and replaced by Found scrawled in biro. There’s a picture of Sami with the girl from the supermarket holding him. Their noses are touching. But his name is not Sami.
This story was inspired by the words spanner, puppy, custard, suggested by Emma Thrower on 30 July, 2013
where mute memories start talking 