Three years after my cat died, he came to me in a dream, meowing. He said he was hungry. He said the other cats were bullying him. He said he was cold when he tried to sleep... My heart shattered. I went to his grave and burned all his favorite things: a can of tuna, his little catnip mouse, and—just in case—a 3D-printed Wolverine claw. That night, a new app mysteriously appeared on my phone. It was called "Whisker." When I opened it, my cat Lucky’s face filled the screen. His little paws were scratching frantically at the display. “Mom? Is that you?” “Mom, I miss you so much!” Behind him, a group of scruffy-looking ghost cats were nursing their wounds, hissing in frustration. “You’re a cheater! Calling your mom when you lose a fight is against the rules!” 1. It all started during a work trip to New Orleans right around Halloween. The city was alive with a strange, electric energy. I saw a woman in Jackson Square leaving out bowls of food and water along a row of makeshift altars. I saw an old man lighting candles for spirits I couldn't see. In one of the famous cemeteries, the "cities of the dead," people had left countless offerings on the tombs. There were the usual flowers and photos, but I also saw a baby bottle next to a half-empty can of beer, and a plate of spicy jambalaya. Offerings for the young souls and the old soldiers, I guessed. They were placed on the ground, so that any spirit, even one who couldn't stand, could have a dignified meal. But what made my breath catch in my throat was a small pile in the corner. Someone had left out bags of cat and dog food. A little sign was propped up against them: For all God's creatures, big and small. Tears instantly welled in my eyes. My cat, Lucky, had been gone for three years. Every year on the anniversary of his passing, I’d leave his favorite treats at his little grave in my backyard, but I never knew if they reached him. Do the rules of the afterlife apply to animals? Is there a spectral mailman for beloved pets? I’d heard New Orleans was full of spiritualists. On a whim, I found a woman in a small shop in the French Quarter, surrounded by herbs and candles. "Excuse me," I started, feeling foolish. "I want to leave some things for my cat who passed away. Is there any way to know if he'll get them?" The woman wasn't the spooky figure I'd imagined. She was a kind-faced old woman with warm eyes. She was burning incense, the smoke curling in the air like dancing spirits. For a moment, it didn't feel scary at all. It felt like coming home. "Here," she said, her voice like rustling leaves. She handed me a small vial of clear liquid. "An old folk remedy. Anoint your eyes with this. You'll see what you need to see." I did as she said. The world flickered. Gray, hazy shapes drifted at the edges of my vision—some vaguely human, others like the ghosts of animals, all of them like mist I couldn't quite grasp. I scanned the spectral crowd, my heart pounding, but I couldn't find him. Defeated, I wrote down Lucky’s name, a description of him, and our home address on a piece of paper, and asked the woman if she could somehow "forward" my offerings to him. On my way back to the hotel, I saw an old woman hunched over, searching for something on the sidewalk. It was late, and I was worried for her. "Ma'am? Are you looking for something? Can I help you?" She looked up, her face etched with worry. "Young lady, have you seen a little tuxedo cat? White chest and paws, green eyes?" I shook my head. "No, I'm sorry." She sighed, a long, weary sound. "Thank you anyway." I walked on. A sudden gust of wind blew past me, and when I looked back, the old woman was gone. ... That night, I dreamed of my cat. He was meowing, his beautiful black and white fur matted and dirty. "Mom, I miss you so much," he cried, a heartbreaking little sound. I stared, unable to believe it. My hand trembled as I reached out and pulled him into my arms. "Lucky?" "Mrow!" I hugged him tight, tears streaming down my face, my whole body shaking with a joy so fierce it hurt. "Lucky! You're back! Oh, I missed you so, so much!" Lucky buried his head against my chest, his purr a rumbling engine of happiness. I ran my hands all over him, checking his old wounds, asking him if he was okay, why he hadn't come to see me sooner. He told me he was always hungry, that bigger ghost cats stole his food, that he shivered at night from a cold that had nothing to do with the weather. He asked me if I didn't love him anymore. Why had I forgotten him? Finally, he looked at me, his green eyes full of a sorrow that broke my heart all over again. "Mom... I'm sorry I wasn't strong enough. I died before you got there." I bit my lip so hard I tasted blood, forcing back a sob. My voice shook. "No, baby. You were the bravest boy. You held on for so long. It's my fault. I'm the one who wasn't there... I've missed you every single day." I'm so sorry I didn't get to say goodbye. Lucky, never the brightest bulb, seemed satisfied with this. His tail gave a happy flick. "I missed you too, Mom!!!" "Baby," I asked, "did you get any of the things I left for you?" He licked his ghostly lips. "I did! An old lady gave them to me!" ...Three years. It took three years for him to get his first care package. What kind of existence had my poor baby been living? Fresh tears pricked my eyes. "Why didn't you come to me in a dream sooner?" He hung his head. "Cats have to work in the afterlife. You have to earn enough points to send a dream. But I'm not a good mouser... and nobody wants to hire me." He curled into a tiny, ashamed ball. "I'm sorry I'm not as good as the other cats. They all saved up enough to see their owners." My heart ached. This was my precious boy, my pampered prince who used to need me to stand over his bowl before he'd deign to eat. I couldn't imagine him struggling like this. "So how did you make it here tonight?" I asked. He perked up, gesturing with his paw. "It was the old lady! She helped me! She chased away all the mean cats who were bullying me!" He even held up the slip of paper I’d given the spiritualist in New Orleans. Taking advantage of his temporary spectral bravado, I rushed to burn his favorite can of tuna, his catnip mouse, and the 3D-printed Wolverine claw. My little ghost cat purred his goodbyes and faded away. I then burned a stack of spirit money in the direction he'd indicated, bowing my head in gratitude. "Thank you," I whispered to the unseen benefactor. "Thank you for helping my cat." Faintly, on the wind, I thought I heard an old woman's voice. "Excuse me, but have you seen my cat?" But when I looked, there was nothing there. The next night, the "Whisker" app appeared on my phone. When I opened it, there was Lucky's face, batting at the screen. "Mom? Is that you?" "Mom, I miss you so much!" Behind him, a gang of mangy-looking ghost cats were yowling. "You're a cheater! Loser has to call his mom! You don't fight with honor!" 2. Lucky was a rescue. The night I finally fled my boyfriend's apartment, a torrential downpour was hammering the city. On the side of the road, I found a tiny, soaking wet kitten, its eyes not even open yet. It was no bigger than a mouse. The vet at the emergency clinic just shook his head. "He's too young, probably abandoned by the mother. He's unlikely to make it." But I insisted they try. He was fighting so hard to suckle from the little bottle. Watching him, I saw myself, desperately trying to survive. Against all odds, Lucky made it. My small, empty apartment slowly filled with cat bowls, cat beds, and cat trees. Lucky was a perfect gentleman. He never scratched the furniture, but he also never seemed to learn much of anything. It didn't matter. Whenever I was home, he was a permanent, purring attachment to my body. For a while, I thought I had adopted the world's most angelic cat. Until I realized—every single online test for cat intelligence, Lucky scored a perfect zero. Finally, I took him back to the vet. The doctor looked at me with pity. "He's a very sweet cat," he said gently. "He's just... not an Ivy League candidate." Fine. It's not like I expected him to go to college. What was I going to do, divorce my cat? Coming home from work, lounging on the sofa, falling asleep at night—there was always a soft, warm, purring body snuggled up against me. Raising Lucky felt like I was healing my own childhood. Until the day the doorbell rang. The delivery guy said I had a package that needed a signature. I was expecting something, so I didn't think twice. I opened the door. My blood ran cold. It was Jake. He reeked of whiskey. As I tried to slam the door, he forced his way in and kicked me hard in the stomach. "You bitch!" His palm cracked against my face, my head ringing. He grabbed me by the hair and dragged me backward. I couldn't breathe. "You're seeing someone else, aren't you?" he slurred, his hands tearing at my clothes. "My dad was right. All women need is a good beating to learn their place!" Buttons popped. I screamed, struggling, fumbling for my phone to dial 911. The call connected for a split second before he kicked the phone out of my hand. I managed one desperate cry for "Help!" before he clamped his hand over my mouth. Just as I thought it was over, a black-and-white blur shot across the room. It was Lucky. My timid little cat, who usually hid under the bed when the mailman came, launched himself at the hand choking me and sank his teeth into it. Jake roared in pain and kicked him. Lucky flew across the room and hit the coffee table with a sickening thud. He didn't make a sound. "Lucky!" A wave of pure adrenaline surged through me. I rammed my head into Jake's gut, knocking him off balance. I scrambled towards my cat's limp body. "Lucky!" He was completely limp. My hands were shaking, my limbs numb. Suddenly, my hair was yanked back. Jake was on me again, his face twisted in rage, his hands closing around my neck. "You dare hit me?" My fingers closed around a heavy vase on the end table. I swung it with all my might against the back of his head. He staggered, and I broke free, scooping up my cat. "HELP ME!" I screamed, running for the door. At that moment, there was a loud banging on the door. My neighbors. "Maya! Maya, are you in there?" Jake lunged for me again, covering my mouth and nose. The knocking stopped. My heart sank. Then, CRACK! The door splintered open. My neighbor from next door, a big guy from the gym downstairs, and a few others had heard my screams and broken the door down. They saw Jake on top of me. Jake finally looked scared. He let go and tried to run. The gym guy tackled him and held him until the police arrived. "Are you okay, kid?" one of them asked, stuffing a dirty sock in Jake's mouth to shut him up. My face was covered in blood. I was shaking uncontrollably as I held my cat. "Lucky... Lucky..." My neighbor saw the state I was in, grabbed his keys, and drove me to the nearest 24-hour animal hospital. He waved off my thanks as I left a pool of blood—mine or Lucky's, I couldn't tell—on his car seat. "Just go!" I ran inside, clutching my cat. ... The prognosis was grim. The hospital set up a group chat for updates. In the days that followed, the vibration of my phone became the sound I feared most in the world. The news was never good. And it kept getting worse. "Lucky remains in a deep coma." "No signs of waking. The outlook is not positive." "He developed a fever this afternoon." "Lucky started having seizures. We're stabilizing him now. He's experiencing liver and kidney failure." ... I filed a police report immediately. I had broken up with Jake because I discovered he was violent. I had been so careful when I moved, telling none of our mutual friends my new address. I had no idea how he found me. I couldn't quit my job. The vet bills were piling up. I wanted to be at the hospital with Lucky every second, but I had to earn the money to save him. Every day at work was torture, my stomach in knots, dreading the next notification from the group chat. One morning, the sky was a grim, oppressive gray. A terrible feeling washed over me. I checked the group chat. The last message was from midnight, after they'd brought Lucky back from cardiac arrest. I let out a shaky breath. No news is good news. I was wrong. Jake, that bastard, wasn't done with me. I got to my office building, and he was there, waiting with a group of his friends and a bouquet of roses. He had a sheepish grin on his face. "Babe, I'm sorry. It's just a cat. Forgive me?" he said, trying to hand me the flowers. "I'll buy you a new one." "Get away from me," I spat, not even wanting to look at his disgusting face. One of his friends chimed in. "Come on,嫂子 (sao-zi, sister-in-law). He knows he was wrong. You've been together for years. A little fight is normal." I stopped. I looked at this crowd of pathetic excuses for men. "I'll say this one more time. Jake and I are broken up. He broke into my home, he tried to rape me, he nearly killed my cat, and he trashed my apartment. I've already called the police." Jake's face darkened. He threw the roses on the ground. "Don't be a bitch," he hissed. "You really want to do this?" This monster worked as an executive at a big tech firm. The company culture favored employees in stable, long-term relationships. He was up for a promotion. That's why he was here. ... In the middle of the confrontation, my phone rang. I saw it was the animal hospital. My heart leaped into my throat. As I reached for it, Jake slapped the phone out of my hand. It hit the pavement, the screen cracking. "You're recording me?" he snarled. I scrambled for the phone. It had to be about Lucky. "Let go of me!" I screamed. I slapped him, hard. His smile vanished. He grabbed my wrist, his grip like iron. "You're asking for it, aren't you?" My coworkers tried to intervene, but his friends blocked them. "Hey, it's just a lovers' quarrel. Stay out of it." "Let me go! It's the hospital!" I fought like a wild animal, scratching his face, kicking his shin. He finally yelped in pain and let go. "Are you crazy?" I probably looked it. I didn't care. I grabbed my phone. The screen was black. I didn't think. I just ran into the street, flagging down a cab, desperate to get to the hospital. But when I got there, the vet looked at me with sad eyes. "Lucky passed away five minutes ago." He sighed. "He was waiting for you." My body went cold. I reached out and touched his still-warm body, the tears finally coming, hot and endless. "Baby... Mom's here..." Lucky's eyes, which had been open, finally closed. 3. I was going to kill Jake. He killed my cat. Because of him, I wasn't there to hold him in his final moments. That day, one of Jake's idiot friends had filmed the confrontation at my office and posted it online. "Unbelievable. My buddy's girlfriend is a total gold-digger. He treats her like a queen, and she dumps him over a cat." "He goes to her office to try and win her back, and she attacks him like a psycho. It's tough being a man these days." The comments section was a dumpster fire. "Rule 1: Never date a crazy cat lady. Just run." "These chicks treat their cats like gods. It's sick." "It's an animal. Animals die. Your boyfriend is trying to apologize, and you're acting like this? He should dump you." The video showed me, hair wild, attacking Jake while he backed away, a "patient, loving" expression on his face. At the end, his friend asked him off-camera, "Dude, just give up. She slapped you just for missing a call from the vet. Why do you want her back?" And Jake, sighing like a martyr, said, "It was my fault, I didn't see the cat. Maya's a good girl. She'll come around." "Redefining 'good girl.'" "I assault my boyfriend in public, but I'm a good girl." "This is why women shouldn't have rights. Her man is right there, and she cares more about a flea-bitten animal." "Wow, her boyfriend is so hot and patient. Does anyone have his @?" ... I was dogpiled online. Men showed up at my office with signs. FIRE THE ABUSIVE CAT LADY! BITCHES BE CRAZY! APOLOGIZE!!! I started losing my hair. I couldn't sleep. But I refused to back down. The D.A. was slow to press charges. Jake kept texting me from blocked numbers. "Give it up. You can't win." I didn't care. I put my condo up for sale. I needed money for the best lawyer I could find. I wanted that bastard to pay. 4. Jake was arrested, but only held for a short time. My injuries weren't "severe" enough, and in the eyes of the law, Lucky was just property, a stray cat with no monetary value. The system couldn't punish him properly. Jake's lawyer claimed he was remorseful and willing to offer financial compensation. Since we had been in a relationship, the police suggested we settle out of court. His family was well-connected in the city. Friends, former colleagues, even my own boss started calling me, gently suggesting I drop the case. "It's just a cat. Is it worth all this drama?" "The family has money. Just take the settlement and get a new one." "Why are you being so stubborn?" Eventually, the suggestions turned into threats. "You want to keep working in this town? Think carefully." But that was my baby. He was brutally killed, and he died alone and scared, surrounded by strangers. And somehow, it had all become my fault. While I was still gathering evidence, I found out Jake had been quietly released. I couldn't accept it. I filed an appeal. I started documenting my entire legal battle online. My company, wanting the bad PR to go away, sent me on the extended "business trip" to New Orleans. I thought I would never see my Lucky again. I never imagined I'd see him on a video call, purring and happy, on an app that came from the other side.
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