“One cannot hope to end one’s life with nothing but a butter knife.”

Mirabelle, deep in the throes of a perfectly awful dream, jerked awake with that Edward Gorey line in her head. She sat up straight in the bed and was completely startled to see the cat sitting on the dresser and staring at her with bright green eyes that glowed even in the dark of the bedroom.

“What the hell? A cat?” Now Mirabelle was still a bit sleep drunk but she was pretty damn sure that she did not have a cat, especially one quoting Gorey.

She swiveled and threw her legs over the side of the bed, decided she was hallucinating, and headed to the bathroom, refusing to acknowledge the cat since obviously it was just a figment of a dream. No way would she have a cat; she detested the creatures, and at seventy-seven years old that fact was not about to change, even if this one had bizarre taste like she did. Now awake, she wanted a cup of tea and one of those leftover scones.

The cat was sitting on the table when she got to the kitchen and this time Mirabelle watched in horror as the cat said, “It’s possible to pick up crumbs by pressing on them with the thumbs.”

“Okay, what’s the deal here, cat? I find you are generally wretched creatures; even one who quotes the master of crazy. No way are you making yourself at home here.”

It was seven a.m. but outside was dark as pitch. She thought that was odd, but sat down with her tea and scone and proceeded to sip, breaking the pastry into small bites.

The cat, after a few moments, moved closer and with her black paw reached out and put it on the edge of the plate. Those green eyes were boring into Mirabelle’s own, and after a few seconds she picked up a pea-sized crumb and, sighing, put it in front of the cat who delicately took it off the table with her small pink tongue.

“What, no thank you?” Mirabelle sat and waited.

“I don’t thank for what is mine,” the cat murmured, licking her paw.

Mirabelle just stared. “You know you’re not staying, right?”

The cat smiled which Mirabelle found extremely odd, since she had no recollection of ever having seen a cat smile. Intrigued now, Mirabelle put another small bite in front of the cat who lapped it up.

“What are you doing here anyway? And how did you even get in? There aren’t any houses very near close to me, but you seem healthy and well fed, so what do you want from me?”

Again, that smile from the loathsome creature who by now was giving Mirabelle the creeps. “Well, Mirabelle, you called me.”

“I did no such thing.”

“Oh, but you did. You might not remember since your memory is a bit….shall we say not dependable? You do know that you’ve got some issues with your brain, right?”

“Well that’s rude.”

“Maybe, but here you are talking with a cat, which is decidedly abnormal.”

“Hey! You’re the one who started this by quoting Edward Gorey, who by anyone’s standards was pretty much a whack job, not to mention his dark, gothic art and…..”

“Shhh…..Gorey is one of our illuminaries, Mirabelle. We idolize him.”

“Who is this “we”?”

“You haven’t figured it out yet, have you?

“Stop with the riddles, you stupid creature. Figured out what?”

“This. All this. Me, the dark morning, the whole fact that you are talking to a cat.”

Mirabelle took a few more sips of tea and tried as hard as she could to badger her brain into making some sense of this. Most of yesterday was a black hole. She took another bite of scone and then it suddenly hit her.

“I remember I fell.”

“Yup. A bad one, truth be told. Do you remember what came next?”

Mirabelle squeezed her eyes shut and thought and thought. “Ah! I remember I couldn’t get up and I was really stressed out about it. It’s a bad thing to fall at my age, especially since I’m…well…all alone.”

The cat reached out again with his paw and Mirabelle started to give him a scrap of the scone but he laid his paw on her arm. “Do you remember what you said after you’d been lying outside in the heat and sun?

Mirabelle hung her head and said softly, “I’m pretty sure I said I wish I was dead.”

“Exactly! And that’s where I come in! They gave me the job of making sure you got your wish and that’s me.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“I’m the Angel of Death!” By now the cat was grinning at her like that damn Cheshire Cat.

Mirabelle started to laugh. “Why the hell did they send a cat for me? I hate cats! And you are supposed to bring me comfort in my death?”

The cat looked stricken. “Look, all the other ones who deal with the macabre followers, they were busy and so…here I am.”

“Oh god. I’m being led into the after life by a black talking cat who quotes Edward Gorey? This has got to be some kind of joke.”

“Nope. Now we gotta go. I only get a certain amount of time to convince you to come with me and then they send The Big Guy and he’s not nearly as nice as I am. I’d advise you to come now. When The Big Guy steps in his quotes are more from Dante’s Inferno, and all that hellfire and brimstone crap.”

“Well, since you put it that way….” Mirabelle paused. “Do I need anything?”

“Nah. Everything’s provided. Ready?”

“Ready as I’ll ever be. I just want you to know I don’t like you any better. You’re still a damn cat.”

“Got it. Gorey is gonna love you.”