"Ordinary riches can be stolen; real riches cannot. In your soul are infinitely precious things that cannot be taken from you." ~ Oscar Wilde

Autumn's bark and branch fingers raked the Indiana skyline on our country drive. Getting a new pet is exciting so the twenty-minute drive seemed twice that. An occasional mailbox-on-a-post or two marked the houses lining this rural road of cornfields. Our tires crunched gravel when my wife and I pulled into the driveway of my co-worker's newly built brick home and I killed the engine. The overhead garage door stood open a foot and a few orange cats peered out. We approached the front porch, passing a dirt lawn with freshly planted bushes and saplings.
Maria opened at my knock. "Hi! Scott. Cynthia. Come on in, he's in the garage." She led us through the house. A cat lounged inside while four more greeted us in the garage. "It's the grey one. Like I said, he's not in great shape. He appeared last week and started hanging out with our crew, eating their food."
The grey cat walked right up to me, tail at twelve o'clock, friendly enough, but I hesitated to touch him. His fur matted with mud and both eyes leaked clear fluid. One of his ears was cocked, like a birth defect but he wore it well, at a rakish angle. You could see his ribs. This pet would be an investment. I sighed.
Cynthia picked him up and his legs flailed.
"Every middle-aged couple needs at least one kitty," said Maria. "Too many kitties without homes. I'm glad this one found you two."
* * *
My life revolved around the two Sundays each fall when the Packers played the Bears. This was one of those weekends. By the time I got in front of the TV, Brett Favre had already thrown two touchdowns and Green Bay had a ten-point lead. My coffee table set with ripple chips, salsa, pretzels, and a jar of olives. I sipped a mug of lukewarm java. The grey cat jumped up on the sofa and stretched out on my lap. We had named him Kot because everyone remarked that he looked like a Russian Blue, and Kot is the Russian word for cat.
The Bears kicked a field-goal as Cynthia entered carrying a grocery sack. "Hi honey. Game on, I see. And you even have your friend to watch with you."
"Game on. And I'm finally getting' used to this one bein' in my way all the time."
She walked past the sofa. "The sunlight just shines off that blue fur. He sure cleaned-up well."
I stroked him. "Good thing too, as much as he's on me. He doesn't even look like the same animal we picked up." I couldn't use the sofa without the little guy joining me, purring like a motor. Every bedtime he sat on me to have a bath. "Hey, I never noticed this before. He's got a tiny white tuft of fur on his chest."
Cynthia was the daughter of a dairy farmer and had lived the ways of the country. "I bet I know what happened. Between that crooked ear and flaw in his coat, some breeder dumped a litter of inbred kittens for the farmers to take care of. Sad kitty. Nobody wanted him."
* * *
I hated moving across town yet alone to the West coast, but the world's wheels turn on dollars, and we had to follow Cynthia's well-paying job. The rental truck sat empty in the driveway and my back throbbed but all our cartons and furniture were inside. I showered off the summer sweat and brushed my teeth at the sink. I enjoyed the breeze of a box fan that rattled slightly, glad the long day was done and I could finally sleep.
The move had been tough on our little family. We had no children but did have seven cats by now. Moving that many at once all the way across the country had not been an option and we had to make a special trip two months before to deliver half our brood to relatives who volunteered to help. We had just gotten all our felines back this morning, and trying to unload the moving truck with Kot underfoot--under my feet--was a joke. "Kitty Kot, always in the way." I'd barked at him from around a stack of boxes. "Get out of my way!" I had to close him up in the bathroom until we had finished with the moving van.
I rinsed the toothpaste and spit as my purebred kitty rubbed on my ankles. We had learned that he was called a Chartreux Blue.
Cynthia scrolled Facebook in the den, not yet ready for sleep. Wearing only my skivvies, I crawled to bed and settled on my stomach. The Kitty Kot jumped on the bed and stepped onto me. I usually tolerated his bedtime bath sessions, but tonight I just wanted sleep and almost shooed him away.
Kot walked up to my shoulder blades, sat on my bare back and yowled in a long meowing song.
I laughed as he carried on for a good ten seconds.
Cynthia rushed in, "What is it?"
I explained what he had done.
"Aw, he missed you. That cat really loves us for rescuing him." she turned back to the den. "And he probably thought he'd lost you."
Kot head-butted my hand as I stroked him. "I'm back, Buddy. It's all right."
* * *
"Honey, something's wrong with Kitty Kot," called Cynthia from the sofa one night. I came in to find him walking circles on the cushion next to her. I stood watching, waiting for whole minutes, but he wouldn't stop. I sat and checked him over. His eyes kept rolling in the direction he had walked, and they were . . . wrong. One pupil was dilated wide, the other a narrow slit.
"Oh-no!" said Cynthia. "I bet he had a stroke."

I sat up holding him all that night, his head lolling in circles. It slowly dawned on me that he'd have to be put down. This was the last time I would get to hold my Kot. This was my goodbye. I rubbed tears into his charcoal blue fur. I held a small dish of wet food so he could eat his last meal. I carried him to the litter box a few times and he let me hold him still long enough to use it. Maybe I could care for a handicapped cat. We would visit the vet tomorrow.
I said his name softly to him many times that night, hoping that he could still hear me. The only time he stopped his incessant turning was when his legs wrapped around my arm, and he'd snuggle in. Then he would still and peacefully doze. But only for ten minutes at a time before his head lolled again.

The sun rose on Kot one last time. The emergency visit to the vet revealed a brain tumor. He was not suffering. Yet. But he would be soon. Kot last moved in my arms as he slipped into a needle's peaceful oblivion. Those horribly unfocused eyes would haunt me, getting in the way of accurately remembering his face. It took six months before I could get to sleep properly without missing his nightly preening. None of our other kitties would warm my lap when we sat before the TV. Freaking brain-tumors.
* * *
I dropped my dentures into the glass I kept on the bathroom sink for their overnight soak, and scratched at my white thinning scalp. My bones ached with the cold damp as I crossed the bedroom. I lowered myself onto the bed, and tucked one leg at a time under the covers. Cynthia was tired and already dozed next to me. I slung one arm around her and drifted . . . Until I was awakened by a vivid dream. What? My mind churned on that one. I hovered near the ceiling, looking down at us in bed, three of our cats snuggling us.
"You're in the ethereal plane right now." There floating next to me, was an angel. Don't ask me how I knew what he was--he had no feathers. He appeared as a big human and wore a simple white robe with a matching sash. "Cynthia can't sense us," he said.
"So, what's happening?" I asked, fearing the answer.
"Massive heart attack. You've passed-on as they say. I'm here to prepare you for your binary destination."
"My what?"
"You know, Heaven or Hell. Your whole universe is actually a living thinking machine that processes the experience of all life. It's working out an equation. You've been part of it--all living things are."
"Equasion. Right."
"Thoughts and emotions are received on a sub-atomic level. Your universe also records your journey from here to Heaven or Hell like binary code. You'll be free of its measurements when you enter your new dimension."
I'm dead. It would take time for that to set in. I certainly didn't feel dead. "All right. I think I'm headed for Heaven."
"Most do. Everyone is unique and only you can make the journey."
"So." I rolled my very alive-feeling neck. I felt none of the usual stiffness. "How do I prepare?"
"Follow me," the angel turned.
"No. Cynthia . . . " I looked down to her.
"I'm forbidden to speak of your destination, but I am allowed to tell you you'll be with your wife again. Outside of linear time, in eternity." The angel beamed a smile.
I moved close to Cynthia's face and kissed her. "My Sweetie," I whispered. "We'll be together. Our love will stand." I fought tears. "We're old now--we won't be apart long." I studied her blissfully unaware features a long time, bidding her one last good rest. Then cleared my throat. "Hey, Angel of Death, can you give her soul rest as she grieves?"
"I can and I will."
"Okay." I sighed and kissed her one last time. "Then I'm ready. I'll follow you now."
We should have levitated upward, through the roof and into the moonlit sky, but I only sensed that we moved away. Away from everything I knew. Shooting off through the void of space we moved so fast that stars streaked in my vision, and then blurred colorless.

A flash--and then we were standing. On grass. Rolling meadow and forest gurgled with the flow of a stream. Here and there animals, mostly the domesticated kind, sunned themselves and chased after each other. A monkey called to us before scampering up a tree.
"Where are we?" I asked.
"Purgatory. A cosmic waiting room of sorts. Come. We must walk. But in silence."
And I did. The sun shone and it was a beautiful day. The animals would come close to us but when I reached out to pet them they scampered away, barking, or meowing, or cawing. I couldn't track how long we walked, but I did not tire. I could drink from the stream and ate a sweet red fruit I plucked from a tree.
Boredom and impatience flickered in my soul when across a meadow a Chartreux Blue sprang from a cedar thicket and walked toward us through the grasses. "Hey ," I pointed, "I used to have a cat exactly like that, one cockeyed ear and everything."
The angel stopped, crossed his arms and smiled. "Did you, now."
The thin charcoal blue animal walked in our direction, then stopped. His wagging tail froze at twelve o'clock. He gave a brief yowl.
It didn't just look like my Kot. "Sweet Jesus."
He raced toward me.
I gasped for breath. A sudden laugh burst uncontrolled from my deep in my throat, and my eyes pooled. My mouth opened and closed before I called to him--for the first time in decades. I dropped to my knees as he closed and leapt into my arms. His eyes are right again! I stood, mastering my emotions, steadying my breath, and smiling the pure joy that only comes from freely given love. I dried my wet cheeks on Kot's fur as he yowled in his own joy, like he did on my back that night so long ago. "But how?" I asked the angel, "It's not possible! Animals have no souls."
"But they do have spirit--like angels do--and spirit cannot be destroyed. Animals that came to love particular humans exist in Purgatory, sustained by memories of the living. Their love is part of the equation and survives into eternity, just as your love for Cynthia has. Animals piggy-back a soul's binary journey. Love is more powerful a thing than humans understand."
Kot head-butted my hand as I scratched the back of his neck. "Hey, he wasn't the only one . . . wasn't the only animal who loved me."
The angel smiled. "Let's walk."

Author's note: If in the afterlife I cannot find Pushak, Simon, Monroe, Mouser, Mister Blue, Kot, Molly, Koda and Angst, I'm gonna' break things. Their love, an animal's love, is pure and unblemished. I'll take every second of love I can get in this world. Freely given love is as meaningful to most creatures as food itself. The next time your pet bothers you at the computer, stop what you're doing and enjoy them.