LM Fontanes

Listen to LM read her story

I really can’t handle unhappiness, especially yours, my favorite human. After a mixed bag of eight others, you, my last and best companion, have not taken my death well. You’ve tried but I know how often your seeking fingers reach for me in the chilly bed. How often you look around the living room for the comfort of my floofy crescent on our preferred armchair. For weeks I’ve employed celestial encouragement to get you to consider a replacement. No furry dice. You told your friends “there’s no cat quite like Thomas” and (rumble) I appreciate that. Still, I can’t relax here in the afterlife until I know you’re properly accommodated on terra firma. For the many wonderful things you did for me (remember that cardboard box?), I’m convinced you deserve more moggy company. 

So far, however, I’ve failed to nudge the right kitty in your direction. You know how it is with cats. Herding. All that. Meanwhile, I can feel my connection to the earthly plane starting to fray. Last night as I watched your silent tremble of grief, I snuggled with you in spirit and recommitted to discovering your next fur friend. 

***

I began this drizzly morning by floating alongside when a work buddy dragged you to a shelter’s open house. You probably thought you should consider a hard-to-adopt older cat because it’s autumn, not really kitten season. In the meet-and-greet zone, I sidle up to a promising tuxedo, handsome and proud. Maybe a little too proud. He resents my intrusion and when you lean over to stroke his head, Tux snarls and scratches your hand. Of course, blood-letting is a deal-breaker. I catch you looking away when we pass a young woman cuddling her newly-chosen red tabby on the way to the parking lot.

Later on, the enthusiastic bartender at Hal’s shows you his brother’s sister-in-law’s second cousin’s Maine Coon who looks big enough to order his own drinks. Your studio apartment’s probably too small to accommodate such a beast, I rub the thought against your leg. You shake your head at the barkeep, I don’t think so. Without finishing your non-alcoholic Mai Tai, you collect your raincoat and begin the brief walk to that too-quiet home. 

En route, I notice that slices of my worldview seem to be shifting from Earth-shaped to glowing tunnel. To buy more time, I backpedal in freefall like I’m in a litterbox on leg day. In all my lives, I swear I’ve never felt so helpless. Please, please, if you exist feline in heaven who may or may not hang out with St. Francis, can you provide my human with the next best cat ever? The glow appears to waver. Which is when it occurs to me that, you know, I’m just a cat, no matter how long-lived. Maybe it’s better to let you decide who you want to love?

As I ponder this and prepare to hear you cry yourself to sleep again tonight, I notice we’ve stopped short. There’s something on the stoop, blocking the building entrance. Hey, another cardboard box! Too bad I can’t be corporeal once more to enjoy it.

Ohhhhhh, you squeal as you peek between the half-opened flaps. I can barely make out the rest of the scene because now it’s too late. The pesky tunnel has come to embrace me, and I can only say—

Mew!

You kneel beside the makeshift cradle, gazing in awe as the mama cat welcomes the last of her newly-born kittens to my first breaths of this gorgeous world. I can’t actually see you, of course, as my eyes are screwed shut for another week or two. I can, however, sense your return to kitty happiness and I’m certain you’ll pick me when the weaning moment arrives. After all, love like ours can only come around nine times. Or ten. I’m pretty bad at math. Which is okay because even though I can’t count to eternity, we can count on each other, every day of this extra special life.

What LM said about the prompt:
It’s inspired by a lifetime of cats who all wait for me wherever good kitties go.

LM Fontanes is a multi-racial, multi-genre storyteller who writes, teaches & leads. Words in/upcoming Roi Fainéant, Frazzled Lit, Silly Goose Press, Temple in a City, Emerge Literary, 100-Foot Crow, JAKE, 34 Orchard, Flash Fiction Festival Anthology, Thomasonian, The Willowherb Review, and long-listed for The Smokey Award and the Frazzled Lit short story prize.
Social Media: Bluesky

Read more from LM:

Emerge Literary Journal – ‘Judgment Day‘
Jake – ‘Tell Me That One Again‘