MARIGOLD
You will not steal the cat. You will not steal the cat. You will not steal the cat.I repeat the mantra over and over again in my head. But he’s so adorable. His owner makes him walk around with that ridiculously heavy-looking collar on. That can’t be comfortable, and it better not be real diamonds. I should get a closer look.
I would if the owner hadn’t let the gorgeous kitty take off and disappear into the bushes. Then he just went into the house, leaving the poor cat out here all alone somewhere.
“Get it together, Goldie,” I whisper to myself. I’m only here to steal one thing, and that’s a flower. I have to concentrate.
I can’t let myself get distracted. I know stealing a flower sounds like the silliest thing ever, but it was an offer I couldn’t turn down. It was either this or jail, and I’d never make it on the inside. You can’t have cats in prison. So that’s a definite no-go for me.
Stealing, I could do. I mean that’s what got me into this mess to begin with. But what I’m not used to is breaking in. That’s new to me. My fingers only get a bit sticky when an object is right there staring me in my face and I think no one will really notice. I had to google a how-to on the whole burglary thing.
I’m in all black as suggested and am waiting for the sun to set before I make my move. All I could find in my closet was a black hoodie and yoga pants. I pull the hood up to mask my hair in case there are cameras or something. When they play back the footage, they’ll think I’m a boy. These rich people always have cameras.
I shift onto my knees from my hiding place under a bench. I fight a whimper when my knees scrape along the edge of it, and I hear my pants rip in the process as a sharp pain shoots through me.
I barely fit under the bench to begin with. For once, my small stature was actually helpful. I was seconds away from getting my hands on the flower lily or whatever-you-call-it thing and then that giant scary man showed up with his adorable cat.
If not for the adorable cat, I might have peed myself looking at the sheer size of the man. The precious furball offset the enormous scary man vibes that radiated from his owner. It had me wondering what I’d gotten myself into. On the plus side, he’s a cat person, so he can’t be some mean, angry person that would get super upset over me taking a flower, right?
Then again, wealthy people are weird. I know because I clean their houses. Which is the very thing that has gotten me in trouble and landed me where I am right now. Mr. Hoover, one of my employers, wants some special flower, and this greenhouse is the only place that has it on this side of the planet. Are flowers really that rare?
I’ve been in the wrong business. Here I’ve been stealing jewelry along with other rare small items that I thought would go unnoticed, and I should have been ransacking gardens?
Taking this one flower will get me out of trouble with Mr. Hoover. That’s our deal. He said he won’t report me to the police for the necklace and watch I’d taken. I guess his wife hadn’t noticed the two Birkin bags or three Cartier rings that were missing. Her closet is so stuffed with designer goods that she may never notice.
In my defense, I needed the money those items got me. It wasn’t as if I were stealing them to profit off them. I could only get a quarter of what they were worth, but I’d do anything to help keep the Purry Pussy Shelter doors open. (It got its name back in the '60s, and somehow, no one questioned it.) I volunteer for them every weekend, and they’re the only no-kill cat shelter in the city. I don’t want to think about what would happen to all those cats if that place shut down.
As I was moping over the idea of the shelter closing, I’d spotted one of Mr. Hoover’s fancy diamond encrusted watches. Without thinking, I snatched it off the dresser and stuffed it into my pocket. Sure, I was nervous at first, but that went away rather quickly.
I was shocked with how fast I sold it. Once the transaction was done, I then made the enormous donation to the shelter. It bought the place some time, but it still wasn’t enough. They need more funding. Once two weeks went by and no one said anything about the watch, I knew I would take something else. Things quickly escalated from there, and now here I am.
When I stand fully, my legs sting. I glance down to see one knee of my yoga pants is torn open, and blood is dripping out onto the floor.
Oh shit! That’s like, evidence. I pull my backpack off and search for something to clean it with. All I find is hand sanitizer and tissues. The hand sanitizer might make it impossible for them to get any DNA. That’s how CSI people find you. I squirt the liquid onto the floor and rub it in the best I can with my tissues, but blood keeps dripping from my knee.
My DNA isn’t even on file, so it doesn’t matter. Right?
“Meow!”
“Ah!” I gasp before quickly putting my hand over my mouth. The cat leaps onto the table in front of me. “You almost gave me a heart attack for the second time tonight.” I scratch the little guy's head. He purrs loudly as I continue to pet him. I can’t help it that his cuteness distracts me and makes me forget why I’m here. “You’re making this difficult. I’m trying to steal something here so I don’t end up in the slammer and all your third cousins end up dead!”
“Meow.” He responds to my melodramatic outburst. He must understand, though, because he leads me back toward the same door he and the man went through after they entered the green house. I open it, and he darts inside.
I pull out my flashlight and shine it on the flower. It sits perfectly in its clay pot. I hope it’s pretty when it blooms, because I’m only half impressed with how it looks right now. I reach out slowly and pick the pot up.
An alarm starts to blare the second the vase leaves the stand. “There was a sensor? What is this? Ocean’s Eleven? I'm not prepared for this,” I tell the cat, who now seems a bit smug. “You could have warned me,” I hiss before I bolt out of the smaller room back into the greenhouse, but I slow when a shot of pain sears through my knee. The cat comes after me. It’s on him if he follows me home. I’m not going to turn him away.
I reach for the handle to the greenhouse to make my escape, but it opens before I can even touch it. The same man from before stands there, blocking my exit. He’s staring down at me with a very angry but maybe excited expression on his face?
“Hi,” I chirp. “I’m Marigold.” I try to pretend I’m calm, and this is all normal. “I was hired to do a cleaning, but I think I got the wrong address.” I scrunch my nose, trying to play up the whole I’m lost thing. “You rich people and all the greenhouses. There are so many around here. They all look the same. I can’t even get a normal house.” I start to ramble. “But then your cat distracted me and well…. Sorry?”
“Cleaning? A greenhouse?” His deep voice rumbles as he pulls the hood of my sweater down. “Let me guess, this is your cleaning attire?”
“You know it really depends on the job. Some ask me to clean in one of those sexy maid uniforms.”
His brows pull together. He’s getting more pissed by the second.
“That was a joke.”
“That joke might just be on you, my little cat burglar.”