MicroHorror

Beth was never close to her grandmother, who lived alone in a house out in the woods. When she died, Beth moved into the house for a week to clean it up for possible buyers. There were cans of Alpo in the cabinets, and two bowls marked “SKIPPY” on the back stoop. Beth filled one with wet food and another with water, and in the morning they were empty. Feeding a dog was easy compared to sorting through twenty years’ worth of neglected bills and correspondences. Somewhere in here was a will, which was nothing more than a formality. Beth’s mom Wendy–stuck on the West Coast–would inherit it all, and probably have to pay back taxes. Grandma’s habit of putting copious notes on sticky notes that had lost their stickiness didn’t help. Most of the notes were reminders to herself to go into town and buy more food for Skippy. There wasn’t a single vet bill for Skippy, so he was probably rabid out there. The poor old woman had a few saltines for herself to eat, but a year’s supply of dog food. One day Beth brought the can outside, but forgot to open it. The next day she gave Skippy two cans, to make up for it. Beth eventually figured out Grandma’s organizational system, and tracked down the long-lost will. It said that she had no real assets but the house, and that the house should be sold. The proceeds would go exclusively to Wendy, Beth, or whoever was willing to take on the responsibility of Skip, her other child. Skippy was special, the will said, and liked the outdoors.