By J. S. O'Keefe
I am in Rob’s funeral home trying to explain that the dead chipmunk I found in my backyard this morning deserves a proper send-off.
Rob waves his hand. “No sweat, Liam, that’s what we’re here for. Chipmunk falls in the deceased pet category. We offer a deluxe version, $1,200 to $2,000 depending on the size of the animal. And there’s the basic, it sets you back three to eight bucks.”
“Let’s go with basic, Rob. The chipmunk and me, we were not very close.”
“Basic it is.” He turns around and yells to the other room, “Kate, sweetie, Mr. Liam is here with a dead pet.”
A little girl shows up. Around eight-years old, a beautiful child.
I am surprised to see such a young kid in a funeral parlor. “Daughter or granddaughter?”
“Granddaughter,” says Rob. He takes the dead rodent out of the paper bag and throws it to Kate. She catches it with one hand.
“Basic?” she asks.
“Basic,” says Rob.
Kate walks to the far corner of the room swinging the chipmunk by its tail. She turns back to me. “Mr. Liam, you want to say a few last words to your mousie?”
“No, I don’t. It’s a chipmunk by the way, not a mouse.”
“Okay,” says Kate, “it’s a chipmunk.” There’s a tabby cat next to her stretching lazily. She mumbles something then feeds the rodent to the tabby.
I grasp for air. “It’s not exactly what I expected, Rob.”
He shrugs. “Well, Liam, next time cover your eyes. Your total with taxes is gonna be four dollars and seventy-five cents. For that price you couldn’t expect a military funeral with the three-volley salute.”
I hand him a ten-dollar bill. “She is a cutie, you granddaughter.”
“She is, ain’t she. Once Kate’s gonna run this place. Not that I want to retire anytime soon. Actually I wanna be workin’ till the day I meet my maker.”
My jaw drops. “This beautiful kid wants to be funeral director?”
“Go figure,” says Rob. “I guess she likes the money. Or the quiet.” He looks in the cash register. “Sorry, Liam, can’t give you change, only got tens and twenties here. Tell you what, this one was on the house.” He lowers his voice. “Just between us, I got a humongous contract this a.m. Some serious shit’s about to go down. They’re wirin’ the advance tomorrow, and accordin’ to whispers in the industry a standin’ order could also be in the works. This deal, let me tell you, I don’t even have to provide a single coffin or urn. A mass-grave kinda deal on public land. It’s all gravy, so to speak.”
Footnote: From the author’s chapbook Lovelorn Methuselah (Amazon).
About the Author
John O’Keefe
J. S. O’Keefe is a scientist, trilingual translator and writer.
His short stories and poems have been published in Roi Faineant, Scribes*MICRO, Every Day Fiction, AntipodeanSF, 101 Words, Microfiction Monday, 50WS, Friday Flash Fiction, Medium, Paragraph Planet, 6S, WENSUM, Spillwords, Satire, etc.
You can find out more at his website: <https://www.szjohnny.net/>
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