Penelope and Marmalade's anniversary
Penelope Simmons had an unusual disease, one not often spoken about in public. Commercials with sports stars or Hollywood celebrities discussing the malady were nonexistent. No fundraisers for research into the mental disorder were known. Her daily life was controlled by the regimented effects of her condition. Penelope was a voyeur of the dead.
Penelope sat at the dining room table sipping her coffee and reading the newspaper. Marmalade, her orange tabby, watched in interest from behind the paper. The cat's ears perked up as the woman in the pink bathrobe spoke. His head tilted sideways, in a look of confusion, when his name was included in the conversation.
"Que Sera Sera, huh, Marmalade?" asked the sleepy eyed woman with the pointed cat glasses sliding down the bridge of her nose. Penelope circled another item of interest in the weekly.
"What will be, will be." She said as she scooted her chair out to replenish the coffee cup. Marmalade followed as loving pets will do.
"Need to get dressed soon but I want to finish mapping out our schedule for the week. The Wakefield affair is at eleven. We mustn't be late!"
Penelope finished writing out all of the details needed for the week onto her personal calendar.
"You go potty while I get dressed," she directed. The feline raced to the litter box as instructed.
She donned dark dress pants and a printed top. After brushing her silver hair back, she placed a black felt hat on top of her head. She adorned the outfit with a necklace and small angel brooch.
The woman grabbed her backpack, opening the front flap. Marmalade jumped into the bag and the pair departed. There was little conversation to be had in the car.
"Duck down, now Marmalade. Don't be letting people see you in there!"
She entered the chapel with the backpack slung loosely on her shoulder. She stood in line with the other mourners, hoping her inside smile wasn't visible on her lips. Penelope was giddy at the prospect of seeing the dearly departed Mr. Wakefield. Today marked an important anniversary of sorts, for her and Marmalade. Together, they had attended over nine-hundred funerals and wakes. Her joy of visiting the dead had never waned. Her prize was always received at the end of her tearful viewing. Penelope's orgasm at the coffin was usually mistaken for grief by the bereaved.
She gave condolences and patted the hands of the family. She felt the heat growing in her loins as she neared the coffin. Her body tensed in anticipation. Marmalade poked his wiggling nose out of the bag. A sharp pain struck causing her to clutch her chest, just as her passion was released. Penelope fell dead on top of Mr. Wakefield. To avoid being crushed, Marmalade jumped from the bag. The cat defecated on the deceased. The widow fainted at the sight.
Onlookers swore they heard the cat say, "Que Sera, Sera."
Word Count 499