An absence of eyes stared back at me. I looked down to study the goat’s burr embedded in my knee before returning to gaze at a complexion twisted with pain. The bugs had long left this hollowed cadaver, emptying the space between flesh and bone, leaving only a matted shawl of fur. Lifting my head, I studied the commons in search of another being to bask in the horror I’d stumbled across. Flocks of cockatoos flew overhead to their roosts, abandoning me in the arid wasteland at the rear of our government house. I pressed a thumb against my left nostril and blew a large glob of reddened snot into the dirt. I licked my lips clean of the blood gushing from my nose and sat up, dusting my clothes of the rust-coloured dirt that covered me in the fall. The cat continued its eyeless stare.
Glancing back at the house I returned to study the corpse, interested, as any twelve-year-old boy would be, anxious to be caught and ridiculed. The feral cat’s skull gleamed through the leathery skin on the top of its head. It had been scalped. Our town was one of many in regional Queensland which still paid cash in hand for the trophies of pest animals; tusks for pigs, tails for roos and scalps for feral cats and wild dogs. This had led to the brutalised corpse before me. I let my thoughts wander in its presence.
I pondered running my tongue over the sun-bleached skull and feeling porous bone dusted with dirt transition to rancid, bristled fur that caught my teeth. Or placing a soft paw between my lips, biting down and letting fragile bones burst through fur, then chewing the mouthful into a gray paste. I spat hard into the dirt.
I sat till dark crept in, still as the cat. Standing up now, I walked to the house backwards, determined not to lose sight of my new friend. The dead grass gave way under my feet and sensitive weed bit at my heels. I turned to walk up the back steps of our house, watching my foot fall as I went. The first day we moved in I stepped on an exposed nail which embedded itself in bone. My toes tingled at the thought of another rusted intruder. Inside I stripped off, stood in the shower and watched the dirt mix with dried blood at my feet. I daydreamed, the cat reanimated, weaving through my legs. Its skin caught on mine and tore, falling to the floor in rotten flakes. Slowly it disassembled itself until the shower was littered with debris that crunched between my toes.
I floated into bed and slunk under the freshly washed linen covers. Though I was clean and safe, my body ached for cold dirt next to the hallowed husk. Peering fixedly into the night, a crown, cratered like the moon, glinted in twilight. I pressed my forehead to the glass. The comfort of a dead cat soothed my sleep.
Waking to a cacophony of bird calls that plagued the crisp morning air, I stretched and rubbed sleep from my eyes. Mornings here were quiet now; mum and dad hadn’t left their room in weeks. I crept outside, pressing my ear to their door and listened for any sign of movement. Muffled sobs seeped through the wood. Walking down the hallway I dodged piles of boxes all labelled clearly with my sister’s name. Her door was locked as well, yet I knew the room stood empty. It had been weeks. Passing the kitchen my stomach turned. I hadn’t eaten for a while but a rancid stench wafting from the bin kept me from entering. A thin film of grease lined each surface, and the sink towered high with dishes.
My mind drifted from my body and lay outside next to the cat. After the bugs left, it seemed as lonely as me and I was happy to give it the companionship we both needed. Before making the journey into the commons, I stopped at the back door of the laundry room. Bending down, I pulled a bucket from under the sink, filling it with a few squirts of detergent and hot water. Returning to the cupboard, I searched for the rest of my supplies; gloves, sponges, an old toothbrush and a small tarp. I lifted the too full bucket out of the sink and carried it, sloshing, down the steps at the back of our house.
I sat cross-legged in front of the corpse, then jabbed a finger into the cat’s sternum, breaking through the skin and touching bone. Though the skin was intact, I would have to work carefully to ensure my new friend’s safety. I took the toothbrush from my waistband, the bristles bent and unpredictable from previous use. Dipping it in the soapy water, I inched towards the cat, blood roaring in my ears. I let the water drip from the brush and into the left eye socket, before touching it to bone. I started to clean.
Once all the exposed bone had been scrubbed then left to dry, I wiped the toothbrush thoroughly on my clothes and set to work on the fur. Slowly expunging red dirt and debris, I combed through the matted fur, singing as I went, an old lullaby used to settle my younger sister. Despite my steady hands, as I was finishing the left ear, it fell into the red dust beside me. My throat swelled and salted tears stung my eyes. I’d tried so hard. Why wasn’t it ever enough?
I wiped the tears from my eyes and smeared dirt across my face, the grains mixing with salty pearls, rubbing my cheeks raw. Gathering my thoughts I rose to my knees and hunched over the delicate body. I slipped my fingers into the earth under my friend and gently lifted it onto the tarp, then tucked the fallen ear into my breast pocket for safe keeping. I folded the edges of the tarp together, cradling the soft mass, and slowly walked back to the bounds of our yard, up the back steps and into the house.
Leaving the corpse in the hallway, I entered the kitchen and took a butter knife from the drawer. The silver felt cold in my hand as I slipped it in the lock and entered my sister’s bedroom. The air was stale. My new friend needed something to wear for dinner. I walked past the crib and towards an old wooden dresser. Looking into the mirror, I saw my companion lying obediently in the hallway and smiled. I reached into my breast pocket to stroke the severed ear I now kept so close to my heart. Snapping my mind back to the task at hand, I opened the dresser and pulled out a pink plaid dress with a matching bow. My sister wouldn’t mind my using it, besides she no longer had the need for dresses.
After carefully dressing the cat and myself, we strutted arm in arm to the kitchen. I lifted my friend into the highchair at the end of the table, making sure she was comfortable before setting the placemats, bowls and utensils. I placed a large pot on the stove to boil and threw in old bones that had fallen through the skin of my friend’s legs onto the floor, before adding the final ingredient from my breast pocket.
I left the cat in the dining room, making sure to reassure her before trudging down the hall to my parents’ bedroom. I knocked loudly on the door and proudly proclaimed that we had a guest for dinner, letting mum know that she needn’t bother cooking as dinner was ready and warming on the stove. To my surprise and overt delight my parents opened their door, shifting their gaunt gray figures in silence towards the dining room. They sat at their regular seats and gazed over at my friend in the highchair. A smile drifted over both of their faces and onto mine. I walked briskly into the kitchen and carried the pot over to the table, being careful not to spill my delicious creation. I diligently ladled the broth into each bowl and finally sat down in my own seat. My mum, speaking for the first time in weeks, urged us to join hands for prayer before our meal. My father extended his hand to mine, and I took up the small paw to my left, feeling the still damp fur tickle my palm. It was nice to have the family reunited. One corpse replaced another.
