The Funeral House Cat

Alone in the city.

Just me, myself... and the funeral house cat...

It just came scampering up to me today, an agile long haired feline, it's clean salt & pepper fur luminously swaying in the first spring sunshine.

The funeral house cat stopped directly in front of me on the sidewalk, looking strait up into my face with it's huge, green orbe eyes. It's piercing gaze all the more stunning set aginst it's dark face, black as death, and white mane.

Lithe and light it rubbed up against my leg like a happy bad omen.

I reached out to pet it but the animal was more like a vision than anything of this world. It playfully darted away from my hand to the edge of the side walk, as if it were the edge of reality, while never taking those deep, liquid eyes away from mine. Was it telling me something?

The next moment the funeral house door opened and the creature went running back.

I saw it standing at the base of the wooden steps, it's tail flicking in impish delight as a fragile, ill and grieving old woman was carried down the stairs. Her breath was raspy as tubes of oxygen protuded from her nostils like a clear noose.

The funeral house cat fixed the woman with her green gaze before darting up the stairs, between her withered legs, without compassion, but a teasing joy that couldn't have been more out of place.

I don't like being alone in the city.