Death Has a Cat

Death has a cat.

It was never her intention to have a companion, much less a living one. In the forever that was her work, never once had she even entertained the idea. It was preposterous, as Life would say in her highest pitch possible, and Death must agree.

So how did it come to be?

Well, Death being Death, her line of duties often leads to interesting and, quite frankly, bizarre places. The stretch of her Wings is enough to blot out the sky, invisible to the living and feared by the dead. She likes keeping notes of her work, long may that be, as a mean to pass the undisclosed amount of Time (whose loop she actually eludes) given to her. She likes marking down peculiar demises and, depending on the poor soul, some would get a chuckle out of her on a rainy day.

This was not one of those cases, however.

It was painfully normal, you see. The kind of normal that made her groan and wondered why she couldn’t delegate. It was a cute little old gentleman, living alone in a little house in the suburb of a little town. He had a little heart attack, and his little soul passed before his little body hit his little couch. All in all, it was standard, common and more or less painless if Death had to say so herself.

But if it was all standard, then this story would have ended here now, wouldn’t it?

Now see, the little old gentleman had a senior cat. And it wasn’t just any cat. It was a one-eyed, scruffy-furred, teeth-missing grumpy old cat. And before Death even noticed it was there, the cat had its one-eyed stare locked onto her every move. It wasn’t anything too uncommon. Lots of animals, especially cats, could notice the ripples created by those who are not tethered to their physical world. And that would be it.

This cat decided to follow Death.

Weaving through cluttered furniture, it trailed behind her. Squeezing through its own tiny door, it chased after her. Without a single sound aside from the jingle of its bell, it followed her as she moved from job to job.

“Isn’t that interesting?” Death hummed as the cat stared at her through the window of a dying child.

Be it sun or rain, the cat followed her. It would disappear sometimes, perhaps for a hasty throwaway meal, before appearing again, faithfully (or creepily?) trotting behind the flutters of her Wings.

“Do you wish to die?” She asked it on the fifth day, dark head quirking inquisitively at the creature. Silently, it stared back with its gold-rimmed green eye, far too wise for such a small thing.

On the sixth day, Death stopped and fed the cat. Strange as he was, the creature was gentle, and he sat in her lap, gratefully purring as they watched the sunrise on top of a skyscraper.

On the seventh day, Death had taken to have the creature ride on her shoulders. He curled around her neck like an ugly fuzzy scarf, a bit smelly, but warm. And thus, Death continued on her merry way, accompanied by a very unlikely companion.

Together, they journeyed far and wide. From the far reaches of a rainforest to the bustles of a city. From sterlerised hospital wards to open fields. They would wander and frolic, all on duties and sometimes for fun. The cat would watch her send departed souls onward, all quiet with his too-wise eye. She would do her job as she always has, just with a companion this time.

She didn’t give the cat a name, nor did she bother to find out what it was.

What is in a name? A name is trivial to One Who Reaps All. A name does not distinguish someone from the rest of the departed. A name only means another notch in Death’s long, long list.

It is not in Death’s nature to question one’s mortality. It is Life’s farce, to wail and point fingers when one of her favourite creations dies. Only to move on as quickly as Light graces the Earth, onto her next new toy. And Death simply goes to the next soul, to repeat the cycle all over again.

Her concept of Time has always been hazy at best. Why bother when she exists outside of his rule?

She knew what must come to be.

It was a beautiful day in Arabian glistening sand and swishing waves. The cat spent most of his time soaking up the sun while Death patiently waited for a lost man to take his last breath. Then, armed with warmed cotton, she bundled up the grumpy cat and stepped into the sunset, for their next destination was the cold, cold North.

She always liked aurora. It was strange and magnificent, and she liked to think those whose last sight were of the bewitching light would have the most beautiful departures of all.

So, they sat by the frosted side of a lake, waiting for the light to come. Pale fingers buried in scruffy fur, Death hummed a forgotten hymn, in tune with soft purrs, as the stars began to shine.

Over the horizon, green and blue and purple started dancing. Like glimmering sashes of silk, it fluttered with every heartbeat, reflecting in the cat’s wise eye.

There was peace in the quiet wonders of Nature. There was beauty in the frozen temporality of Life. The inherent bittersweetness of Time that coated one’s heart in all the feelings that was mortal.

And in Death’s unbelievably warm embrace, a little life had come to cease.

There was no mourning, for it was never her role. So Death looked upon the old-new soul and smiled.

“Would you like to proceed?”

Glassy green-gold eye stared back, purring.

At the end of the day, Death still didn’t know what had brought on this little adventure. It could have easily been one of her fellow immortals playing a practical joke. Or it could have been by chance.

What matters is Death has a cat, and so it shall be, for the rest of their eternity.