Milo met the specter for the first time one bright afternoon. The humans were away; his family had left him alone with heaping bowls of dry cat food and extra water. When Milo spotted the dark robes, he chased the frayed edges in confusion and delight. His orange tabby paws flicked and reached. Then an alarming thunderclap of a laugh brought the play to a stop! Raising his chin to the ceiling, Milo saw to whom the robes belonged: he was alone with Death. The fur on his back rose; his tail bristled. Milo’s usually kind face contorted into fierce fangs and a snarl. Still laughing, Death reached down—fearlessly, for he had no flesh to be scratched—and placed a bony finger to the orange forehead. The wraith assured Milo he was not there for a cat. No, he had heard from some local ghosts that there was a child who lived here, and that is whom he sought.
“Why, I have a little girl,” said Milo. His face softened as she came to mind.
“Is she well loved?” asked Death, for those were the ones he liked best: children ripe with love.
“Oh, very! She is the best little girl in all the world. And so nice to sleep with.” Forgetting his fright, Milo rubbed against the robes, leaning where legs should have been before strolling down the hallway. “Here is her bedroom.” They entered and looked about at the finger paintings and baby pictures displayed on the walls. A pale smile stretched Death’s skeletal features.
Death, who fancied himself a modern ghoul, was pleased, for not only had he found a likely new prospect, but the child lived in one of these new, South of Market high-rises with nice, tall ceilings and lots of light. Finally, he wouldn’t have to crouch about, bumping his skull on door frames while prowling. He had grown tired of his town’s drafty Victorians with gloomy parlors and low beams. And those endless, steep stairs! He had never fallen, but once rolled a bony ankle on a staircase in Pacific Heights back in 1905, just before a particularly busy spell that following spring.
But progress had its challenges for Death. To start with, getting into these new buildings with the fancy elevator keypads could be tricky. He had to hop on at just the right moment, and often rode with an uncomfortable human who couldn’t see him, but departed feeling uneasy. On the way in that night he had accidentally pushed one of the many buttons with his tall stave and arrived on the wrong floor. Once he realized the mistake, and not wanting to return to the lobby to try again, he shrugged and climbed the fire stairs to make up the difference. If he were alive, his ribcage would have heaved.
Now he considered the feline collapsed in a pool of sunshine. There was no use asking it when the family would return; everyone knew animals couldn’t be relied upon to judge time. However, by the amount of food in the creature’s dish by the door, it might be worth checking back in a few days. Death took a last look around the girl’s bedroom. From the window, he caught a glimpse of another building where a rather enjoyable 42nd floor suicide had occurred just last year. So much potential! He would include plans to develop this part of town in his next quarterly report.
Death bade farewell to the cat. When he swept through the door with its hydraulic hinges, he quickly pulled his robes behind so they would not catch in the electronic bolt. Unable to help himself, the cat followed the retreating cloak, and was almost struck by the heavy door. Once outside, Death fretted about the distraction of the cat. He feared snagging his robe in one of these complicated new latches, and being unable to free himself. How his colleagues would laugh.
Inside, Milo sat facing the closed door. He missed the swirling toy. Perhaps it would be back. A little feeling that something wasn’t quite right tugged in his chest. Milo yawned and scratched behind one orange ear. He’d have to think about it after a nap.
***
The family returned and everyone was delighted to see Milo. His girl nearly crushed him with joy, falling onto his back and pinching his velvety ear as she giggled. Later that evening, he sat on the woman’s lap and they loved one another. He purred and kneaded her leg. She winced, but let him continue in his ecstasy.
The robes did not return.
For days, Death was kept busy in another part of town with grubby carpets and sirens. In the night, Death sidestepped police raids, and ducked unnecessarily at gunfire. At the end of a long shift he made a note to return to the glass building.
***
Many afternoons later Death got his chance. He had heard from the ghosts that a crane was scheduled to lift a mighty load above the steel skeleton of a new condominium. Death arrived and watched for lapses in safety. Warning horns blared from the construction site, but no humans caught his gaze. No matter, there was still plenty of time for things to go wrong, he thought, and walked across the street to the child’s blue glass home.
The specter was about to board the unnerving elevator when a dog walker with two hounds made a dash for the open door. Death neatly stepped away and avoided the pushy human, but the animals detected his presence and barked wildly. He could still hear their fuss as the doors closed and the car ascended. Death sighed a gust of musty air. He found the fire stairs and began the climb to the 36th floor.
Death had never been content with his abilities. After all this time, his limited omniscience, and non-existent omnipresence had made him petulant. Some of his colleagues were able to do so much more—think themselves where they wished and whatnot. To make matters worse, they ribbed him about the lagging numbers on his quarterly reports. What did they have that he did not? When he asked, the other specters just snickered and leered.
To commute he was forced to either walk, or take overcrowded BART or Muni. Or, surreptitiously clamber into a car that might be headed in the same direction, thanks to those new ride-share apps. After almost causing car accidents with drivers whose time hadn’t yet come, and tearing his robes in the doors, Death stopped doing that. How he missed hitching rides on the backs of horse-drawn carriages up Market Street. Unlike the nervous humans, those particular animals were unbothered by his presence. These days he was resigned to mostly walking the seven square-miles of his city.
Upstairs, the cat greeted him from a cushion on the sofa. Only the puffed tail betrayed the animal’s outward calm.
“Where is the girl?” asked Death.
“Today she started pre-school,” Milo replied, proudly. Death knew this meant less time at home for the child. Best to come back at night. Milo rose to follow and play, but Death turned and glided quickly down the hallway and out the door. The cat could hear him struggling on the other side.
“Damn it!” Death exclaimed, as he tugged and tore the heavy black fabric from the lock.
Sitting in the entryway, an unfulfilled purpose coursed through Milo. He nipped his flank attempting to concentrate. He really must tell someone about this visitor. But right now his favorite spot of afternoon sunlight called to him. The cat fell asleep and dreamed of Mother.
***
A few nights later, after a particularly depleting week, Death made his way back to the neighborhood of high-rises and trendy restaurants. Construction cranes dotted the dark, foggy skyline. Streetlights lit the bustling evening. In the lobby, a grinning doorman assisted a noisy group of women dressed in short skirts and high heels who were headed out to dinner. Death swept by unnoticed, congratulating himself on his cunning ways.
When he arrived in the family’s hallway on the 36th floor, the child was already asleep. From the entry he could hear her parents cleaning up after dinner and discussing which television show to watch. Death loathed that odd, flickering picture machine. It disoriented him, and he often turned it off, much to the bewilderment of the owners. But tonight he would need the distraction.
Moving down the hallway, Death came to the threshold of the girl’s bedroom. He entered and stumbled on a toy hidden in the gloom. Recovering himself with the help of his stave, he stood still, listening for the adults. They were preoccupied with their entertainment. He watched, enrapt, as the child lay breathing in deep sleep. He was so focused on the soft curve of her cheek, and long, upswept eyelashes that he did not notice the orange tabby curled at the foot of the bed.
The creature raised its head and greeted Death. “Hello. Can we play?” Milo stood and stretched, then sat on the soft, pink quilt. He curled his tail smartly about his feet and waited.
“No,” said Death, “I have work to do. I am here for the girl.” He shifted and inspected the scene. It should be a straightforward job.
“What do you mean?” asked the cat. “This is my girl.” His green eyes glittered in the hallway light.
“Well, really, it is the other way around: you are her cat.” Death would have cleared his throat if he’d had one. “It is her time. She must come with me.”
“Where?”
Unaccustomed to discussing the technicalities of his work, Death paused to think. “To the place you are before you come here,” he said, slowly.
Milo considered this for a long time. “Do you mean the dark place that is also very bright? That is swirling and still at the same time?”
“Yes, that place.” Death was not in charge of animals, but from the cat’s description, it sounded as if humans and non-humans alike occupied the same beginning space. He would have to check with the other department to be sure.
The cat stood and grew agitated. “You cannot take her! I love her!” he insisted.
Death nodded. Indeed, he’d come for the right child if the cat loved her so.
“And, more than that, the woman—her mother! It would destroy her!” With a snarl, Milo leapt over the girl and stood between her and the towering figure. He bristled and bared his fangs as he had on the day of their first meeting.
The specter once again touched a bony digit to Milo’s forehead, and the cat’s body collapsed. He blinked and trembled under the tall, hooded wraith.
“Shhhh,” hissed Death. He needed quiet while he worked.
“Death,” said Milo, who belatedly remembered the need to warn the family, “please, will you take me instead?”
Death laughed hollowly, which the TV-watching adults heard as wind brushing the building. “I’ve come for this child because she is so dearly loved. She is ripe with the fondness of her family.” At this, he regally pulled back his hood, revealing a pocked and gleaming skull that bore a heavy black crown. Unveiled, Death’s visage smoked and danced with flame. The crown was ringed with all the terrifying light and darkness of the lives he had claimed. Billions of points of pain and joy jutted from the blackness that encircled his head. However, its apex was unfulfilled: the hole at its center gaped, an empty mouth with a boundless appetite. The cat’s eyes bulged in terror.
“She will be the supreme jewel in my crown. Now, animal, let me work.” Death made to brush aside the cat.
“But without me,” pleaded Milo, “there would be no child. She is loved because I was loved.”
This gave Death pause. “Explain,” he commanded, his curiosity aroused.
Milo began to tell a story.
“Some time ago, the girl’s mother and father wanted a baby. They loved one another, but knew their world would be complete if they could have a child.”
“Go on,” said Death, clicking the tips of his white fingers with impatience.
Milo continued. For years the couple held out hope, but eventually the stress of failure became too great. They didn’t want to destroy their love by tainting it with repeated loss, so they agreed to let go of their dream, and be content with one another. However, the woman wanted a distraction from her loss.
At this time, Milo was just a kitten, and found himself in a metal cage, in a place with many other crying felines.
“I could smell the canines, too. How frightening!” remembered Milo. “You know that face I made when we first met, and just now?”
“Yes. Quite convincing!” admired Death.
“That terrible place is where I learned it.”
Milo recounted how a sad-eyed woman had come to the cage. She held and comforted him. Milo fell asleep in her lap and dreamt of his mother. The sad-eyed woman took him home and loved him. They played and cuddled every day. The woman told him, in her human words, that she had let go of her dream. When she gazed at Milo, her eyes were happy.
“Not long after that the woman began to change. Her lap grew small. She smelled different. But she still held me close and smiled.”
“What happened?” asked Death.
“One night the man and woman left in a hurry. They didn’t come home for…days, maybe. When they returned there was a curious being with the woman that seemed to be a part of her, but it was separate, too, and made strange noises. The woman held and played with me less. But, mostly, I was content.” Recounting this, Milo began to purr. “You see, there was a lot of sweet milk around then. It reminded me of Mother. Only, I could no longer tell if Mother was four-legged or two-legged.” Milo paused to ponder this.
“Yes?” prompted Death.
“Oh, the little being grew into this girl! She saw how much the woman loved me. I became the girl’s favorite toy,” said Milo, his chest puffing. “My girl squeals and runs to me. Sometimes I am afraid, but mostly, my heart is overflowing. So is hers. The woman watches us with joyful eyes.” Milo blinked, thinking of this.
Then the smoke and mystery wafting from Death’s head reminded Milo of the danger to his family. “Death, I cannot bear to see the woman’s sad eyes if my girl goes away. I am offering myself to you.”
Death eased himself onto the child’s low, pink plastic chair, and rested there with his knees jutting as he considered the story and proposal. This animal was a conduit between the mother and child; the handle of the pump that had primed the woman to fully release her wishes, and let the universe have its way. In doing so, the very thing she most desired was drawn from the well of the world and gifted to her. As a result, this orange creature, too, was ripe with love.
Death pondered the exchange. Yes, there would be some politics to deal with. Some extra paperwork and possibly an affronted colleague upon whose turf he had encroached. But there had been a few other such occasions, which were easily resolved. Precedence had been set by some overly loyal dogs of the past. This cat would be far less complicated. Death weighed his earlier ambition to grow the business in the neighborhood. There was lots of construction, so plenty of opportunities for accidents involving young, healthy, well-loved humans. Those made for good tragedies. And, Death knew, lots of opportunity for suicide. Sometimes adults were easier, anyway. These children—their life-force often fought him. But this cat…he was something special.
“All right,” agreed Death. From the living room, they both heard voices and stirring. Death continued in a whisper, “You seem sure about this.”
Milo flicked his tail in assent. “May I say goodbye?”
Death nodded. Milo rose and gave one last long, satisfying stretch. The girl lay sleeping on her back, mouth slightly open. One of her little hands was flung by her head, palm open. He crept around her shoulder and dipped his head, sniffing her face, his pink nose contracting to draw her sweet scent. He remembered being held. Lapping milk. The kind tenor of the voices in the household. Dozing in the sun. Chasing a winged creature on the balcony. The air in his fur. He gave a last sniff.
Finished, Milo looked up at Death. “My girl will live?”
Death nodded silently. The pair listened to the parents say goodnight in front of the television. Milo knew that soon the woman would come to the room, kiss his girl, then pick him up for snuggles and a nighttime snack.
The specter rose and returned to his impossible height. He pulled the hood over his smoldering crown. Milo tried to compose himself. He settled again at the foot of the bed and tucked his bottle-brush tail beneath him. Death retreated to a corner of the bedroom and stood very still as the woman entered.
She knelt by the small bed and nuzzled the girl who stirred and chewed in her sleep. Milo smelled their breath mingle. Then the woman turned and regarded the cat.
“Milo,” said the woman tenderly, “what a handsome boy you are.” He returned her gaze, blinking with love. She bent and scooped him up in what she did not know would be their final embrace. Adjusting the tabby in her arms, she turned to leave the room. As they crossed the threshold, Milo felt Death’s touch on his chest. There was a cold squeeze and his spine stiffened. His body began to convulse.
The woman cried out for the man, then placed the cat on the entryway floor. The cat’s eyes dilated in the hallway light. They helplessly watched the animal’s death throes. Behind the pair, Death skulked in the darkness of the bedroom and heard the usual sounds he left in his wake: soft cries, confusion, panic. Desperation. Gentle then increasingly rough hands shaking, pressing. Sobs of anguish.
Death took it all in. He’d done his job well. The process had gone smoothly. And so, still hidden in the dark, he was baffled that he didn’t feel the usual rush of fulfillment that claiming a human life usually brought. He looked with regret upon the girl he’d forfeited. The clamor in the hallway continued. As death watched the child, contemplating the ramifications of breaking his contract with the cat, the room slowly illuminated. At first Death though the light came from the child—that she was beckoning him to take her. However, as the intensity grew, and sparks began to shower down upon him, it became clear that he himself was the source. He pulled back his hood in astonishment. In the dark bedroom window, his reflection glowed like a welding torch, but a hundred times brighter. The humans did not notice.
Now a new and wondrous feeling bloomed within Death. The ultimate achievement of Milo’s soul swirled where his heart should have been. A flume of love opened and Death was fulfilled. His reflection gave a final burst of light. With a deep satisfaction, he covered his head and prepared to leave. On the hallway floor, the cat’s tongue protruded from its mouth and the eyes glazed. Death had been right to choose the cat. His quest was complete; his crown was full, the final jewel in place.
It was the end of Death’s shift and time to go home. Instead of exiting through the door, riding the elevator, or walking, Death used his new capability: he thought himself there.
Safely in her bed, Milo’s girl dreamed of Mother.
***
On Monday, Death put in for a transfer to the animal department, which began the happiest century of his career. And, from a distance, Death watched the little girl grow. Out of gratitude for Milo’s family, he ensured she not only lived, but was safe from the perils of the city. Before she left for college he saw the girl and her mother one last time. She flitted, carefree, out the door held by a doorman, a smile on her young, vibrant face. Her mother stood watching in the lobby. The woman’s eyes were happy, and Death was pleased for them.
More glass buildings rose up, and eventually the girl’s parents moved away. The streets of Death’s city by the Bay grew ever more congested. But humans and their pets were numerous and seemed to thrive there. Death successfully grew the animal business, and helped many to their grave. His colleagues no longer laughed; his boss said he had a gift with animals. And, except when he stopped to play with a kitten, he never again snagged his robes in a door.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR Wendy Warren
“Read more about her at https://wendywarrenwrites.com.”