Pets and Friends

After my shift was over I would probably go straight to the pet shop. Pets & Friends was right around the corner from the café where I worked, and I liked to go and look at the animals before I went home. I found that if I didn’t visit too regularly, I could pretend that I actually intended to buy something, like a gerbil or a miniature tortoise. That way I could go in, spend a while walking up and down the aisles and then ask the salesperson if I could hold one of the rabbits. Last time I’d said that the rabbit was a present for my sister. I’d cradled the ugliest rabbit they had for a full ten minutes and then left, explaining that I had to check with our mum first. The next time I visited I said that my sister had a rabbit allergy and could I please handle that lonely looking budgie. For the most part, the staff were pretty willing to accommodate my requests, but occasionally they sighed loudly. When that happened I just gave them a big smile, the same kind I gave to customers who got impatient while I steamed the milk for their cappuccinos.

It was raining and there was hardly anyone in the café, so I started closing down the coffee machine early. There weren’t any CCTV cameras and it was unlikely that the manager would notice. We were never very busy anyway. I wasn’t very good at making coffee, or preparing the sandwiches, and the cafe’s ratings on Tripadvisor had gone down considerably since I started working there. One person had even left a review saying that the barista was cold and expressionless. This wasn’t a fair representation of me as a person, but I could see that my customer service skills could use some work. Once the shop was clean, I left and made my way towards Pets & Friends. It would have been nice to go to the pub or something but I didn’t know anyone in this town, which was why the pet shop was my favourite place. It was a good distraction.

The very first time I’d been to Pets & Friends, I’d felt the need to come across well. To establish myself as an animal person I’d bought a packet of dog treats and a squeaky toy. I reasoned that if the staff believed that I already had a dog, then it would look less strange when I asked to handle the rabbits, hamsters or exotic birds. Growing up, I’d never had a pet, other than a swarm of sea monkeys, although I wasn’t convinced that they counted. For a few weeks we had a kitten, but then it died and I don’t think I’ve been the same since. Sometimes I still get sad and don’t really know why, and then I remember the flattened body of our cat. As a child, I’d realised that I struggled to empathise with other people, but I used to sob watching Pet Rescue and after the incident with the kitten, I had to google the plot of every film I ever watched, to find out if an animal might die. Thinking about it, I probably liked the pet shop because it made me feel things.

Other than the fact that the animals were all locked up, the thing I found most emotional about the pet shop were the personalised posters that were tacked up next to all of the hutches and cages. The little signs all explained how the animals came to end up in the pet shop. For example, a couple of weeks ago I’d grown sort of attached to a white rat called Alan. The laminated sign said that Alan’s owners had moved to New Zealand, and had had to leave their pets behind. I wondered if they’d abandoned other animals, and if so, whether Alan missed them. Sometimes the posters were sadder than that. There were two overweight guinea pigs who’d been at the shop for weeks, maybe even months. The sign next to their hutch said that they’d been discovered in a bin. Apparently a passerby had noticed because of the squeaking. Since then though, the guinea pigs seemed to have lost their desire to live and they sat in the corner glumly, getting fatter and fatter every day.

That afternoon, when I walked into the store, I carried out my usual distraction technique by choosing a small bag of canine dental chews before I wandered over to the small pets section. Alan the rat had found a home now, but the guinea pigs were still there and there were a pair of degus which I hadn’t seen before. I read that the degus had been rescued from a shoebox outside the supermarket. I had to admit that they weren’t very cute, and I moved on to examine a large fluffy rabbit called Honey. Her little display card just said that she was being re-homed due to a change in circumstances, which lacked the drama and narrative I craved. Still, she looked so sweet. I bent down and whispered some nice things through the hatch and tried to let her know that she would definitely find her forever home soon.

Later, when I was in my bedroom I thought about Honey a lot. Unlike the other animals, she looked less traumatised and I wondered if she’d like to live with me. After all, I was technically an adult and I reasoned that it couldn’t be very expensive to maintain a rabbit. I could steal lettuce from the salad I used to make up the sandwiches at work. And, if she became an indoor rabbit, she could live in my room and wouldn’t even need a hutch. Although, I would have to google what to do about all the rabbit poo. I wasn’t particularly bothered about the droppings but my flatmates might not like the smell. Mainly though, I was lonely and it would be good to have Honey around.

A few weeks earlier I’d downloaded Tinder, in the hope that I might find some people who ‘got me.’ However, so far, all of the chats I’d had were pretty mundane. Either the conversations were boring or I didn’t seem to understand them. One girl had asked me what I was into, but when I replied ‘pets’ she’d sent me a link to a group of people engaged in ‘pony play’. The figures in the video were all wearing leather pony masks, but that wasn’t what I’d meant by pets. It had been a while now and I still hadn’t met up with anyone. This was partially because I couldn’t be bothered to chat to someone for long enough to convince them to hang out with me, but sometimes people would just stop replying for no good reason. Often, if you didn’t say something funny straight away the conversation just trailed off. So I orchestrated a plan to make myself stand out. The person who messaged me this morning seemed alright, so I decided to test my theory. Her name was Marcie. Earlier, we’d talked briefly about how we liked to drink our coffee, but while I was lying on my bed I asked Marcie if she wanted to come with me to buy a rabbit. Within seconds she said yes and included a bunch of exclamation marks in her reply. This was a huge step forward yet I resolved to remain casual.

I didn’t sleep well, but I still had to get up early the next day to make the coffee for all the commuters. Of all the customers, commuters were my least favourite. They were always grumpy and in a rush and I hated making their bacon sandwiches. The smell of the meat cooking tended to linger in my hair and made me feel sick. I hoped that Marcie wouldn’t be able to smell it. I’d already let Marcie know where I worked and we’d agreed that she would meet me here at the end of my shift. Meanwhile, I tried to be friendly to everyone who ordered coffee and sandwiches but I couldn’t help wondering why these people didn’t just make their own sandwiches, they’d probably taste better.

Marcie arrived earlier than I expected. I could tell it was her from the pictures on her Tinder profile. I knew that I wasn’t bad looking, but she was prettier than me. She had a short fringe which looked like she might have cut herself. She came straight up to the bar.

         Hey!

         Oh, hi. How’re you?

         Yeah, I’m good!

It was just like in her Tinder messages, all of her sentences seemed to end with invisible exclamation marks.

         Shall I get a coffee, while I wait?

I said sure and started making her a latte. I was actually quite anxious and regretted all of the caffeine I’d drank that morning. My legs were humming and it felt like there was a deep vibration beneath my ribs. I hoped I didn’t look sweaty, but it was difficult not to get hot standing between the coffee machine and the glass washer. I checked and there were definitely small yet visible patches of damp beneath my arms. At least I had a jumper in my bag. Marcie had a book in her hands but when she thought I wasn’t looking she kept glancing over towards me. I tried to look confident while I used the coffee machine but inevitably I kept fumbling with the handles and spilling grains of coffee onto the floor. This probably embarrassed her as well as me but I tried not to think about that. When the lunchtime rush was over I went into the back room to get my things and hung up my dirty apron.

Marcie was waiting for me by the door and I was glad that we were going to the pet shop, if we’d been heading to the pub I wouldn’t have known what to say.

         Have you ever been to Pets & Friends?

No, I actually didn’t even think pet shops were legal anymore. I thought they just existed in like, the US.

Yeah they don’t sell puppies or anything, but they have rescue animals and stuff.

So you’ve been to this shop before?

Oh no, I’ve literally just walked past. It’s on my way to work.

When we arrived at Pets & Friends I imagined that I was entering the store for the first time. I’d planned to wander around to begin with but Marcie just walked straight over to the row of cages at the back. I hadn’t noticed before but the animals made a lot of scuffling and squeaking sounds, which I was glad about because I hadn’t had lunch and my stomach kept interrupting.

         Shit! Look at this, it’s so sad!

Marcie was gesturing to one of the notices attached to the wall. She’d found the sign about the depressed guinea pigs and I nodded in agreement. It really was sad.

         Let’s go look at the rabbits.

I led the way to Honey and we both stared at her, lovingly.

         Wait here, I’ll go and ask if we can hold her.

I was really hoping that no one would mention that I’d almost bought a rabbit before. It wouldn’t be good if the person working recognised me. The girl with the red hair was behind the till and she smiled at me as I approached. It wasn’t long ago that she’d deposited Alan the rat into my lap but luckily she didn’t mention that when she gently placed the rabbit into Marcie’s arms. I crouched over so that my eyes were level with Honey’s face. Honey twitched her nose up and down and Marcie commented on how soft she was, especially the tender spot beneath her floppy ears. We were quiet then and stood quite close together, stroking the rabbit between us. I could feel Honey’s heartbeat and hear Marcie’s breath going in and out. The rabbit didn’t cost very much at all and I realised that I probably could have bought myself a pet months ago. I didn’t have a special rabbit carrier, but they let me take Honey home in a cardboard box with some sawdust at the bottom. Marcie came back to mine as well, to play with the rabbit.

Brodie Crellin’s fiction, essays and reviews have been published by Clav Mag, Fruit Journal, TANK, Another Gaze, DIVA, Sleek and Emotional Art Magazine.

Originally from North Yorkshire, Nancy Eadington is a set painter and artist based in Berlin and Glasgow. She studied art practice at Goldsmiths.