It was about three days after the auto feeders ran out of dry food, and they hadn’t had their wet since whatever happened to me happened. I think a heart attack; I remember my chest twisting and tightening, my breath reduced to a sharp sucking of cold air and sweat on my brow. After that, darkness, then… This. My feet tethered to my… Other feet? My body’s feet. I’m stuck with it, here, watching them as they start in on my belly.
I’ve been stuck here for eight days now, rooted to this one spot on my living room floor; I was never much of a socialite. For some dumb ass reason I figured I could find happiness once The Work was done. But there was always more work, and too many excuses to stop me from living my life. I was my own worst enemy.
One thing I really didn’t expect about being dead, it’s a lot more boring than I expected. The TV was on, some youtube Playlist long since ended. The plate of reheated spaghetti, dropped and left, accompanied by the dried stain of the spilled coke. The table skewed at a strange angle that turned the room into a discordant mess. All I could do is stand, look around, and watch the. All I have now are my girls.
My two girls, Branch and Twig, the best cats anyone could ever ask for, and I love them so damn much. Branch is a big girl, inky black fur and a lazy disposition, the type to lay in her cat bed and watch the world go by. If you tried to pet her she’d move to a different spot, her body becoming amorphous enough to dodge your palm. She was uninterested in most everyone, but every night she’d lay on my side and purr, and betray that cold and indifferent exterior. She loved me. She just didn’t want to admit it.
My other is Twig, Branch’s adopted little sister, and an absolute little firecracker. She’s half the age of Branch, barely more than a kitten, and is an absolute cuddle bug. Nothing but a little ball of indignant Grey fluff that challenged the world to dare challenge her might. She purred all the way home from the shelter, and spent her days either sprinting wildly down the hallway while Branch watched, rolled onto her back and daring anyone nearby to challenge the danger of her fluffy belly, or getting into whatever she wasn’t supposed to. She was always there when I was sad, quick to shove her head into my arm and meow until I focused full attention; All eyes on me, no time to be sad.
Im not mad at them. Of course not, they have to do what they need to to survive. I’m sure they’re not too happy with the current arrangement either. Branch still lays and watches; turns out when cats are staring into space they’re just tuned in to a different frequency. Twig isn’t as playful, which breaks my heart. She’s been sitting by the bedroom door and meowing; I had died with it closed, and her comfortable spot was under my bed. My poor, sweet girls.
All I can hope is that they’re found before too long. I’m glad my body can give them a fighting chance. Maybe in the end I’ll be able to save them, a final repayment for making my life so lively.