John Rogers was just finishing his hot oatmeal with raisins in it
that reminded him of rabbit turds. " They have lots of iron in them ",
his grandmother would point out. The two lived alone in an old house
in Pawtuxet Village . His mother and father were on vacation in Egypt.
His father -a frustrated archaeologist - had always been fascinated by
old dead things.
John had an unusual interest in flowers, always fascinated by their
color and variety. He was at age 11 an expert on local wild flowers. His
science project that semester was an investigation of the flora in the
wooded area near Fay Field.
He needed his allowance that morning in order to buy a new
magnifying glass at the second hand bookstore near the house, " Twice
Told Tales ".
But in order to get it he had to complete a -for him- most,
unpleasant chore. There was a dead cat in the cellar . Some neighbor,
Old Jake, had seen it run over by a pick up truck, most likely Mike
Kelley's, one of the regulars at the Gaspee Lounge.
The cat had gone down the dark ,dank cold cellar to die.
Grandmother handed him a plastic green garbage bag and reminded
him it was getting late for school.
John dreaded dead things . He was already a near vegetarian. But
his hobby -wild flowers -was his passion.
He went down the creaky old wooden cellar stairs. They must be a
hundred years old, he reflected. He spotted the cold stiff dead THING.
That was the thing about DEATH - transformation into a loathsome dead
THING. But if he did not get the dead cat out of there, the rats would
get to it, leaving behind a more gruesome mess.
He located a shovel and dumped the dead thing into the open garbage
bag. He walked up the stairs in shuddering horror. He felt the dead cat
scratch him through the bag and worried about an infection.
Outside he tossed the green bag with the horrid contents into
a small dumpster. He had EARNED his allowance.
That morning in the English class he was assigned this topic to
write on: " Household Chores I Hate To Do ".
Johnny wrote about washing dishes. He wanted to forget this morning.
After school he would again be happy in the company of his beautiful
wild flowers.
that reminded him of rabbit turds. " They have lots of iron in them ",
his grandmother would point out. The two lived alone in an old house
in Pawtuxet Village . His mother and father were on vacation in Egypt.
His father -a frustrated archaeologist - had always been fascinated by
old dead things.
John had an unusual interest in flowers, always fascinated by their
color and variety. He was at age 11 an expert on local wild flowers. His
science project that semester was an investigation of the flora in the
wooded area near Fay Field.
He needed his allowance that morning in order to buy a new
magnifying glass at the second hand bookstore near the house, " Twice
Told Tales ".
But in order to get it he had to complete a -for him- most,
unpleasant chore. There was a dead cat in the cellar . Some neighbor,
Old Jake, had seen it run over by a pick up truck, most likely Mike
Kelley's, one of the regulars at the Gaspee Lounge.
The cat had gone down the dark ,dank cold cellar to die.
Grandmother handed him a plastic green garbage bag and reminded
him it was getting late for school.
John dreaded dead things . He was already a near vegetarian. But
his hobby -wild flowers -was his passion.
He went down the creaky old wooden cellar stairs. They must be a
hundred years old, he reflected. He spotted the cold stiff dead THING.
That was the thing about DEATH - transformation into a loathsome dead
THING. But if he did not get the dead cat out of there, the rats would
get to it, leaving behind a more gruesome mess.
He located a shovel and dumped the dead thing into the open garbage
bag. He walked up the stairs in shuddering horror. He felt the dead cat
scratch him through the bag and worried about an infection.
Outside he tossed the green bag with the horrid contents into
a small dumpster. He had EARNED his allowance.
That morning in the English class he was assigned this topic to
write on: " Household Chores I Hate To Do ".
Johnny wrote about washing dishes. He wanted to forget this morning.
After school he would again be happy in the company of his beautiful
wild flowers.
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Ron