She stretched out in the sunbeam, contemplating. The occasional rustle and scratch at the back of her head could have been a mouse burrowing through the walls of the funeral parlor. Or, if the universe was kind, it could have been someone, somewhere, saying her name as more than a joke. Her whiskers tingled with the vague remnants of devotion, warmer than sunshine and sweeter than cream.

It could have been worse, she thinks in her flashes of lucidity. A cat's life was better than none. There was fish waiting in her bowl and a soft lap for company later.

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