by Terry Brooks
He was philosophical about it. Every cat had to go at some time. His time had just come. At least it happened so fast he didn’t feel any pain. And he had died a hunter’s death. Live by the claw, die by the jaw, he’d always said.
Still, it seemed very, very important that Lucy not be so sad. He’d always liked her, even if he never took her declarations of love for him too seriously. She had called him the “best cat ever” hundreds of times. He’d thought nothing of it. Now he realized just how much he’d meant to her, and how much she meant to him.
The situation was insufferable. Michael Stein decided to do something about it.
“You’re going to do what?” Pax asked. He lifted his head from its resting place on Lucy’s mother’s foot. She was sorting through bills on the kitchen table, completely oblivious to the ghost cat’s affections.
“I’m going to see the Catfather,” Michael Stein said. “Lots of cats do it. That’s what he’s there for—to hear our grievances and help us out.”
“You won’t find it’s as easy as that. Catfathers are movers and shakers when they’re alive, but…You do understand that you can’t go to a living catfather, don’t you?”
Michael Stein hadn’t thought of that. “You sure?”
“Trust me, I’ve been dead a lot longer than you. You’re not part of their constituency anymore. It’s a catfather ghost for you. And those…” Pax lifted one of his white paws, licked it, and ran the paw over one of his black ears. He couldn’t actually touch it, but old habits were hard to break. “They’re really rather useless.”
Michael Stein doubted that. He had an idea about what he was going to ask the Catfather for. He almost said it, but he didn’t want Pax to laugh at it. Instead, he just said, “Still, I’m going to try.”
Pax shrugged. “Suit yourself, but what you should do is accept the way things are. Act like the rest of us do.”
“You mean sit around on your human’s feet?”
“You always have to have the last word, don’t you?”
Michael Stein didn’t think that was fair. He also couldn’t help but have the last word. “Lounging around invisibly doesn’t do anybody any good.”
“You’d be surprised,” Pax said, with an air of import that annoyed Michael Stein.
Before Michael Stein could try again to have the last word, Lucy’s father trod down the stairs, having just come from Lucy’s room.
“She any better?” Lucy’s mother asked.
“Not really. She cried herself to sleep. She’s going to have puffy eyes in the morning.” Sighing, he added, “She really loved that cat.”
Lucy’s mother looked up from her bills and stared wistfully out the open window. She said, “All the girls loved Michael Stein.”
“Good grief!” Lucy’s father said. “If I’d known it would be this bad I wouldn’t have agreed to keep him in the first place.”
“With Michael Stein, it’s better to have known love and lost it than to never have loved at all,” Lucy’s mother said. “I was miserable when my old cat, Pax, died, but that was only because I loved him. I still do. Sometimes I think of him and it almost feels like he’s in the room with me. You know that feeling?”
Lucy’s father said, “Nope. I can’t say that I do.” He grabbed the trash bag from the bin and stomped outside with it.
Pax purred and looked pleased with himself. “See? Didn’t I tell you? Why don’t you just curl up beside Lucy and do what you can to comfort her?”
“That might be fine for other cats,” Michael Stein said, “but I say there can be more to death than that.”
The Catfather’s headquarters was in the same backyard that it had been in when the Catfather had still been alive. Michael Stein had never called on him before, but he’d known where he lived. Every cat knew that. He was surprised at how many cats were already there when he arrived. Seemed like half the town had crammed into the yard, between the lawn furniture and the shed and all around the raised garden beds. All of them had problems they were hoping the Catfather could solve for them.
When he gave his name at the back gate, the Catfather’s secretary looked up from his notepad, one eyebrow cocked. “What kind of name is Michael Stein? For a cat, I mean.”
“Oh,” Michael Stein said awkwardly, “I don’t know. I was only a kitten when my humans chose it.”
The secretary raised his other eyebrow.
Truth is, Michael Stein knew exactly where his name came from. Humans thought it was a pretty strange name for a cat too. Lucy’s mother had to tell the story of how she came up with it on more than one occasion.
Michael Stein was a guy Lucy’s mom had a crush on in high school. He was half-Filipino and half-Jewish. “A crazy mix,” Lucy’s mom had said, “but the result was dreamy.” She claimed that all the girls at school had a thing for him. Because of all the attention he got, Lucy’s mother only admired him from afar. In her junior year science class she got paired with him for a series of projects. They worked well together, but she didn’t let on for a minute about how she felt. And that was that. Unrequited love. Life moves on.
Or so she’d thought until the night of her twentieth high school reunion. Michael Stein was there, looking as dreamy as ever. He ran a successful software design firm with offices in Boston and Munich. He was married with three kids, a dog, two cats. He liked foreign films, ran 10k marathons, and had hand built a wood-fired pizza oven in his backyard. He drove a Prius. He was everything Lucy’s mother had dreamed he’d become.
Much to her surprise, he confessed to having had a crush on her in high school. He’d never said anything because she’d seemed so indifferent to him. Leaving the reunion, Lucy’s mother cursed her younger self as a fool.
About a week after that two things happened on one fateful day. One, Lucy’s mother had a fight with Lucy’s father, and two, she found a kitten. Mad at her husband, she brought the kitten home for Lucy, announcing that his name was Michael Stein, the one that got away. And that was that. Michael Stein had always felt a little weird about it. When Lucy’s mother called him in at night, he was never sure if she was calling for him, or for her long lost high school love.
“Michael Stein! Where are you, Michael Stein…”
So that was the story. It all seemed like too much personal information to give the secretary. Michael Stein tried, “Humans…What’s a cat to do?”
This seemed to sit well with the secretary. He let both eyebrows drop and motioned in the air with his paw—the cat equivalent of saying Amen, brother! He said, “Humans are mad. That’s true enough. So what do you want to see the Catfather about?”
One awkward question right to another.
“It’s policy,” the secretary said. “I have to screen out the nuts.”
Michael Stein had the sudden fear that maybe that would include him. He didn’t see any choice, though, so he revealed the situation that brought him here.
The secretary didn’t look moved. “Sorry, but there’s nothing—”
Michael Stein didn’t want to hear the end of that sentence. He blurted out, “If the Catfather would just give her the gift, everything would be all right!” It was a lot to ask, he knew, but the Catfather had the power to do it—the power to allow Lucy to see cat ghosts.
“That’s what you’re going to ask him to do?” the secretary said. “Give a girl the gift? In the whole history of the human/cat relationship, only a handful of humans have ever been given the gift. Ghandi had it. That whole nonviolent resistance thing? A cat idea. Eleanor Roosevelt had it, too. Talked her husband through the Great Depression with a cat ghost council. Bet you didn’t know that.” The secretary squinted.
No, Michael Stein hadn’t known that. “So humans having the gift is a good thing, right?”
“It can be, but Napoleon had it too. Conquered most of Europe before a double agent ghost cat convinced him that invading Russia in the winter was a good idea.”
“There are ghost cat spies?”
“Don�
��t say you heard it from me,” the secretary said. “Anyway, your Lucy’s circumstances don’t merit this sort of intervention. It needs to be for the greater good, not just to get a girl to stop crying. And you don’t want to waste the Catfather’s time. If you annoy him you could get banished from his district.”
“Banished from his district?”
“You know what that would mean, don’t you?”
Michael Stein did. If he got banished from the district he wouldn’t get to stay with Lucy anymore.
“So what are you here for?” the ghost cat ahead of Michael Stein asked. She was a ginger kitten with large, expressive eyes.
Michael Stein looked through the kitten at the queue of cats strung out along the cement path up toward the back porch, where the Catfather held court. He was trying to work out the speech he was going to deliver. It had to be a good one, something that would set him and Lucy apart from whatever the other cats were asking for.
The kitten blinked and waited.
“It’s personal,” Michael Stein said.
The ginger kitten didn’t take offence. She also didn’t take the hint. “I’m here about Fiona. She’s the kitten that lives in the apartment I used to live in. Her humans are going to get her declawed.”
Michael Stein hissed.
“It’s a crime against nature, right?” the kitten asked. “They tried to do it to me. I scratched them up and jumped out the window. That was a mistake. Our apartment is on the seventh floor. It’s why I’m like this now.” She waved a paw, indicating her translucent body. “They got a new kitten and I heard them talking about taking her to the vet for the procedure. That’s what they call it. The procedure. Fiona doesn’t believe me. She’s too innocent. Can’t even conceive of being clawless.”
Michael Stein had a hard time conceiving of it himself. Nothing could be worse for a cat.
“I tried to get her out of there,” the ginger kitten said, “but they keep her locked up in the apartment. No easy way in or out.”
“What do you think the Catfather can do about it?” Michael Stein asked.
“I don’t know. He couldn’t do anything last time, but he said to come back.”
“You’ve spoken to him already?”
“Yep. Fifteen times.”
Michael Stein felt his hopes take a dive. “You’ve been here fifteen times, but he hasn’t helped yet?”
“Not yet.”
A voice behind them said, “He hasn’t helped any cat, really. Not since he died.” The speaker was a dark gray longhair. “I knew the Catfather when he was alive. He was a serious dude. Cats listened to him. He got things done. That all changed when he died. He’s pretty depressed, really.”
“None of us have figured this afterlife stuff out,” the flame-tipped Siamese in line behind the longhair said. “We’re all return customers. This your first visit?”
Michael Stein nodded.
“Wow,” the Siamese said, “a first-timer. Sorry, kid. Get used to disappointment.”
By the time his turn to address the Catfather came, Michael Stein had heard more hard-luck stories than he cared to remember. Everyone had their own tale, and Michael Stein couldn’t claim that Lucy’s happiness mattered more than all the others. His paws trembled with nervousness as he realized he wasn’t at all sure what he was about to say.
“This one calls himself Michael Stein,” the secretary said, checking his clipboard. “Wait until you hear what he wants from you. Crazy kid.”
“Michael Stein,” a low, deep voice said, “my secretary says you’re a bit mad. I do hope that’s not the case.”
The Catfather. In life he’d been a mythic cat. Not only was he a bulky Maine Coon, one of the largest breeds of domestic cats. Even more, he’d been born with six toes on each of his front paws. He was famed as a hunter. Mice, rabbits, rats, squirrels: you name it; he’d caught it. He used to stalk the deer that came onto the high school fields at night. In his youth, he’d fought epic battles with other powerful cats. Even the local dogs granted him a grudging respect after a story went around town that he’d chased a Doberman up a tree. Michael Stein found that hard to believe. But, regardless of the exact facts, the Catfather had certainly been impressive.
He still was. He reclined in his basket. One enormous paw draped over the rim, claws just slightly visible. Even though they couldn’t do damage anymore, those claws made Michael Stein nervous. The Catfather stared at Michael Stein through his one good eye. The other eye was milky white, a battle wound.
“What brings you before me today?” he asked.
Michael Stein realized he’d been staring openmouthed. He had to do better than that. He was Michael Stein, after all, and he was doing this for Lucy. He said something he hadn’t expected to. “Catfather, most impressive of cats, I come to you with a humble proposal.”
“Is that so?” the Catfather asked. “I thought you were going to ask for something.”
“Well, yes…but I’m also offering something!” Michael Stein hadn’t known he was going to say that, but once he did he knew what he was going to propose. To make it work, though, he had to spell out a few things first.
Pacing in a slow circle, Michael Stein tried to sound confident, an older cat than his years. “I haven’t been dead a long time,” he said, “but I’ve learned some things already. For one, it’s not fun being dead.”
“Tell me something I don’t know,” the Catfather said, crossing his paws.
“But the reason it’s not fun is different than I thought at first. The sad thing isn’t not having a body and claws and teeth. I mean, that’s a bummer, but that stuff just doesn’t matter quite the same way anymore. Something else matters.”
“Yeah, and what’s that?”
“The living people we care about. Living humans. Living cats. Everyone that comes here asks for something for somebody else. Somebody living.” Michael Stein pointed at the ginger kitten. “You came because of a kitten you’re worried is going to get declawed. You’re not here about what happened to you. That’s history. You came here because life goes on, and it’s filled with dangers for the ones you still care about. And you…” He found the longhaired cat. “You’re here because the nurse looking after your old human isn’t taking care of her properly.”
The longhair looked positively dejected. “It’s a tragedy.”
“Of course it is,” Michael Stein said. “And you’re tired of seeing your human boy get picked on by bullies.”
The Siamese cat agreed. “They take his lunch money everyday, but he never complains. He’s a brave little trooper.”
“So, what I’m saying is that the gift of death is also the tragedy of it. The gift is that we come to care about others more than we ever used to. The tragedy is that we can’t do anything to help them. We’re powerless to do anything but just linger, watching.”
“You’re depressing me, kid,” the Catfather said.
Michael Stein turned back to him. He knew now just what he was going to propose. It all made sense. He said, with great gravity, “Yes, but what if it didn’t have to be that way? What if there was a way to solve all our problems?”
“See,” Michael Stein said, “look at all those detective books.”
He and the Catfather stood side by side, having just walked through the wall into Lucy’s room.
The Catfather let his good eye roam over the shelves. “She’s read all of those?”
“Each and every one. She knows all about sorting out problems and solving crimes. And she’s read those too.” He pointed a paw at another shelf. “Those are all books about cats.”
“All about cats, huh?” The Catfather sounded impressed.
“And the cat drawings and posters,” Michael Stein prompted.
“Yeah, I see them.” It would’ve been hard for the Catfather not to see them, plastered over every inch of the walls like they were. He hopped up on to Lucy’s bed and walked up the sleeping girl’s side. After studying her face, he concluded, “Puffy eyes.”
“From crying.” Michael Stein sat on his haunches. “So, it’s like I said, Lucy knows two things—cats and detective stuff. What more could you ask for?”
The Catfather nodded grudgingly. “You sure it won’t make her crazy? Most humans wouldn’t want to have their minds blown this way. Remember, it’s irreversible. It will be with her for life. The gift could be too much for her.”
“Lucy is the sanest human I know. If you do this for her you won’t regret it.”
“I better not,” the Catfather said. “You’re sure she’ll keep her part of the bargain?”
“Absolutely,” Michael Stein said, looking at Lucy’s sleeping face. “I’m sure of it.”
“If this doesn’t go the way you claim it’s gonna…”
“It will,” Michael Stein said. “You’ve got my word on it.”
“The word of a dead cat?” the Catfather asked.
Michael Stein smiled. “There’s nothing more sacred.”
After the Catfather left, Michael Stein curled up beside Lucy and waited through the dark hours of the night. The Catfather hadn’t done much. He just placed a kiss on each of Lucy’s puffy eyelids and mumbled some words that Michael Stein hadn’t quite heard. And that was it. Would it really be enough?
Michael Stein tried to be patient, but the waiting got to be too much for him. “Lucy,” he said. “Hey, Lucy, can you hear me?”
Lucy’s eyes opened. She blinked and sat up. She stared at Michael Stein for a long moment, looking confused. She brought her fists to her eyes and rubbed them, and then looked at him again. “Michael Stein?”
She looked surprised, amazed even, but she didn’t look like she was at risk of losing her mind. Michael Stein decided it was safe to take things a step further. “The one and only,” he said.
“You can talk! You sound just like I thought you would.” Lucy lunged forward and flung her arms around him. She couldn’t embrace him like in the old days, but since she could see him it was different than before. Her arms cradled him as they had in life. He did his best to fit perfectly within them. “You’re the ghost of Michael Stein,” she said.