I slowly drew my hand away from the head of my ‘apparently not dead’ cat.
“So,” I whimpered, “It’s just me. I’m dead alone.” My eyes started to burn.
But then, out of the corner of my now watery eye, I noticed the black…whatever…starting to sway a little and change its shape.
It looked like it was extending a hand out to me.
“OH NO!! OMG!! IT’S THE HAND OF DEATH.” I shrieked.
As the hand moved closer, I shrank back against my pillow. I felt like I should do something…like run…to avoid this death thing. Could I…?
But I was not going to be that dumb girl in the stupid horror movie who runs down the basement to hide…and subsequently becomes many pieces. Does this building even have a basement?
“Noooo,” I whined loudly as the hand moved even closer.
And then Emma stood up and turned toward me and walked up my legs.
She put her two front paws on my shoulders. We were eyeball to eyeball.
“Relax, Tobey. It’s not death. It’s one of your guardian angels. Your main one, actually.”
“By the way, the correct phrase is ‘the hand of God’ not ‘the hand of death.’
Said Jennifer Lawrence…since that is exactly who my cat Emma sounded like…with a heavy Southern accent.
She then licked my nose, dropped her paws, walked down my legs and curled up at the foot of my bed…in ‘her’ Drake tee-shirt.
“Not dead then…?” I asked in a squeaky voice.
I exhaled loudly. “Okay good. Really good and great.”
“His name is Fred. Like in Rogers.”
“Oh, Jesus.” I mumbled under my breath.