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Surrounded by white light, Mrs. Templeton sat in her favorite rocker, stroking Ginger. Her longhaired white cat purred contently in her lap. Though her place was serene and the white light supplied everything she needed, her heart felt like a lump of burned-out coal. She missed Wally, her husband who’d died fifteen years before and left her with so much money she could never have spent it all, even if she’d tried. But as it turned out, that money had become the root of her despair, leaving bitterness in her soul and keeping her from being with Wally now. Mrs. Templeton knew the rules of this place. As long as she harbored hatred in her heart and thoughts of revenge, she would not be allowed eternal happiness and everlasting peace. She could not be reunited with Wally until she let go of those bad feelings. As hard as she tried, she couldn’t shake her contempt for the man who stole all her money and left her to die in a state-run nursing home, miserable and alone. She’d been given a pauper’s burial, a pine box, and no kind words. Worse yet, the young man she’d entrusted to run her affairs didn’t even like cats. A man materialized from the white light, a tall, clean-shaven man with chiseled good looks. He wore a cowboy hat, sharply pressed clothes and smelled of Stetson cologne. A silver star glistened from the breast of his long coat. Mrs. Templeton smiled, offered him a chair, which appeared from the light. “I’m so glad you could come, Justin.” “You’re looking well,” he said, tipping his hat as he sat down. A cup of tea materialized. “Thank you, ma’am.” “No trouble at all.” Mrs. Templeton didn’t feel old in front of this handsome man. She could have chosen to look twenty again, with flowing blond hair and legs like a goddess, a bronzed and blue-eyed beauty. But she remembered those youthful days, her insecurities and flightiness, how naïve she was to the ways of the world. So instead, she chose glimmering silver hair and pure white skin, void of aging spots, supple and only lightly wrinkled. Her short stature and upright posture made her feel like royalty and wise beyond her years as she sat with Justin Graves, sipping tea in silence. “I’m lonely,” she said finally. “If it wasn’t for Ginger…” Tears shined in her eyes. “Wally told me he wished he’d burned that money,” said Justin. “Oh, dear.” A tissue materialized. Mrs. Templeton dabbed her eyes. “The money was supposed to go to Kitty Rescue.” She sniffled. “But Dwaine and his thieving friends took it all.” “Cats mean a lot to you?” “I’ve always loved cats—like Sarah Wells. She was my hero. Now everyone is suffering because of that horrible man. See for yourself.” She waved her hand, parting the white light, revealing a vision in the land of the living.
Sarah, sweat trickling down her cheeks, worked the mop with fury. Hungry cats meowed from their cages, which were stacked floor to ceiling along the walls and down the center of the room. There was so much work to do and Linda was late. Normally, she was very dependable, an unusual quality for a teenager. But, volunteer or not, this morning she should have called. After hooking a loose lock of brown hair behind her ear, Sarah bent over the bucket, wrung the mop, and assaulted the cement floor once again. Her twenty five year old body felt like fifty. Four years ago, this rundown old auto repair shop was the best she could find for the money, which lately had been as scarce as a good man. Donations were few and far between. The rent was late; checks were bouncing. Her dream of saving the lost and abandoned cats of the world was crumbling around her. If only Mrs. Templeton were still alive. The phone rang. Wondering what Linda’s excuse might be, Sarah wiped her hands on her apron and answered the phone pleasantly. A man’s voice came over the line. “My wife’s cat is missing, black and white with a diamond collar. Name’s Missy. Would you have her there?” Sarah’s mind rushed through her inventory of unfortunate felines. Nothing fit Missy’s description. She’d certainly have recalled a diamond collar. “When did she turn up missing?” “Last night.” “She may return on her own, you know.” “My wife wants her now.” “Perhaps you should check the pound.” “If those bastards euthanized her…” “You’ll need to hurry,” Sarah said. “Thanks.” “Could you send us…?” The line clicked dead. “…a donation.” The door buzzer sounded as someone entered the front room. Sarah set the phone down and rushed to the counter, expecting Linda. Her heart fell into her stomach. Lou Ralston, her landlord. He looked angry. “Where’s my rent money, Sarah? I can’t wait any longer.” “I’m trying…” “Not hard enough.” “But they’re threatening to turn off my water. I have to pay them first.” “I’m threatening to throw you and all them damn cats in the street. What’s worse?” “Please, Mr. Ralston…” The buzzer went off again. Sarah shifted her attention to the door. Linda, wearing jeans and her blond hair in a ponytail, was backing in, dragging a big bag of dog food. “Sorry I’m late. I had to stop by the pet store. My mom talked Mrs. Downing into donating some food.” Sarah put her hand on her heart. “Thank God. But it’s dog chow.” “We can soak it. It’ll be all right.” Linda shuffled her booty into the back room. Mr. Ralston wagged a finger at Sarah. “You can’t afford to feed them cats?” “Things are tight right now.” “You think I care about…” The buzzer rang and both Mr. Ralston and Sarah looked toward the door. Sarah’s heart sank. Wearing summer dresses, a young woman and a little girl stood in the doorway, a brown and white calico cat draping limply from the child’s arms, looking annoyed. Red-eyed from crying, they both looked like their best friend had died. “Oh, dear,” Sarah said. Mr. Ralston just stared at them. “This is Sammy,” the little girl whimpered. “He needs a home.” “But…” “My baby sister gets sick.” The young woman stepped forward meekly. “You see—my newborn is allergic to cats. We need someone to take Sammy. He’s really quite gentle and loves to play.” “But I can’t take anymore…” “Please,” the little girl cried. “Don’t you see? I can’t.” Sarah said weakly. Mother knelt to her child, hands on her shoulders. “I’m sorry, Tiffy. Sammy will have to go to the pound.” “But, Mommy—they’ll put him to sleep.” Tears flowed. Sarah couldn’t stand it anymore. “Okay. I’ll take him. I’ll take Sammy. We’ll work something out.” Mr. Ralston looked like he was going to pop. Linda came in. Sarah handed her Sammy. “Find a place for him.” “You’ve got to be kidding.” “Put him with Slinky. They’ll get along fine.” Mother and daughter left, bawling. “You people are nuts,” Mr. Ralston bellowed. “If I were rich like you,” Sarah said with her chin held high. “I’d have Kitty Rescue shelters set up all across the country. There’s so much need.” Mr. Ralston stormed out.
Stroking Ginger, Mrs. Templeton let the vision fade into the light. “Sarah would have done a fine job with the money I had willed to Kitty Rescue. But Dwaine ruined everything.” “Where is he now?” She nodded toward the white light. An image of a yacht came into focus, cutting through Caribbean waters, loud music coming from the deck and boisterous voices filled with laughter. Justin rubbed his handsome chin. “I see. He’s living the good life on your money.” “That money belongs to Sarah Wells.” The original will materialized. Carefully, Justin looked it over. “I know someone who can help us with this.”
The Mary D. Light, an 86-foot yacht, sliced through the water toward St. Thomas Island. Dwaine Cutter, wearing Bermuda shorts and a Hawaiian shirt, popped open the aft cooler, a casket-sized Thermos filled with ice, beer, wine, and even a watermelon impregnated with Vodka. His head already buzzing from too much beer, he grabbed an MGD, spun around and held it in the air. “Here’s to Mrs. Templeton,” he cheered to his crew of drunken partygoers. A dozen bankers and lawyers and loose women hailed, “Amen!” “May she rest in peace, the dumb bitch.” Dwaine opened his beer and chugged half of it down. He staggered across the deck toward his girlfriend, Peachy, who wore nothing but the bottom half of her bikini. Two of his buddies ogle-eyed her breasts but he didn’t care. It was party time. Christopher, Dwaine’s top financial advisor, raised his bottle of wine. “To the best damn swindler in the business.” “I couldn’t have done it without you guys,” he shouted over the loud music. Lei, a flat-chested blond and an expert at altering financial statements, laughed. “Can you believe she was going to give her fortune to a bunch of cats?” “What a loon,” Ralph said. The lawyer and liar extraordinaire tossed a dart, which stuck in a picture of Ginger that he’d pinned to the dartboard. “Nice shot!” Dwaine said. “Mrs. Templeton loved that damn cat more than life itself. I got really drunk the day that prissy thing croaked.” “What’s with you and cats, anyway?” Peachy asked, leaning against the rail. “They’re so soft and cuddly.” “Maybe you think so.” Dwaine swigged beer. “I hate cats. I hate them more than anything. They’re the epitome of laziness, prissiness, and boredom. I can’t stand the way women get all mushy over them. They remind me of little girls and weakness. Besides, I'm allergic to cats, break out in hives and can't breathe. And the way they come up and rub themselves on your leg, purring, makes me want to vomit.” Ralph threw another dart. “Nothing like the sound of a hardy barking dog.” “If every cat in the world were dead, I’d be thrilled.” Dwaine finished his beer and made his way back to the giant cooler. As he leaned in to make his selection, a nauseous odor assailed his nostrils. Sniffing, he looked up, thinking a rotting whale carcass had somehow gotten caught up in the yacht’s backwash. Nothing. Then he felt a pressure on his chest, a presence he couldn’t explain. “Hello, Dwaine,” came a hollow voice from behind him. Startled, Dwaine whirled around. A dusty old cowboy wearing a long gray coat had his muddy boots planted squarely on the deck. His cheeks were sunken, face ashen white, his eyes like gray shards of steel. Dwaine thought he was seeing things, the hot sun and all the alcohol having a bizarre affect on his perception of things. He blinked. The man was still there. “What…how did you… who are you?” “Name’s Justin Graves,” the ghoul rasped. “But you can call me Justice.” “Get off my boat!” Dwaine shouted, attracting the attention of his friends. “Help me throw this fool overboard.” They laughed, waved him off, and went back to their frivolities. “What the…?” “They can’t see me,” Justice said. “It’s only you and I.” Dwaine felt a chill. The smelly old man was beginning to frighten him. “What do you want?” “Justice for Mrs. Templeton.” “The old bag is dead.” “She’s not happy with you, Dwaine.” “What makes you think I care?" “She has a proposition for you.” “You’re crazy.” “Liquidate all your misbegotten assets, keep a million for yourself and give the rest to Sarah Wells and her Kitty Rescue Foundation. All will be forgiven.” “You can’t be serious.” “Dead serious.” “Go to hell and take that cat loving old woman with you.” Dwaine pulled a beer out of the cooler. He wasn’t going to entertain any of this bullshit. He was drunk. It was that simple. Slamming the cooler lid, he turned away from Justice. A creaking sound came from deep within the yacht, then a groan. Dwaine stopped in mid-stride, his heart rate up a notch. “What was that?” Justice grinned. “Your boat’s got a hole in it.” The yacht listed to port. Men cursed. Women screamed. Dwaine clung to the rail and looked overboard. From the hull, fuel was pouring into the sea. “Damn you, Justice!” When he turned around the old man was gone. “Shit!” Sputtering, the engines quit. The loud music stopped as the boat’s power system failed. A naked couple ran up the stairs from a cabin below, dripping seawater. “Abandon ship!” the man yelled and headed for the lifeboat. A cable snapped, the lifeboat plummeted into the water, capsized and went under. “Now what are we going to do?” The boat listed more, the stern now close to the water line. “Jump!” Lei shouted and hit the water, feet first. Ralph threw her a lifesaver and leaped to join her. The other shyster bankers, lawyers and whores followed suit. Clinging to the rail, water lapping at his feet, Dwaine saw them coming, triangular fins cutting through the water at tremendous speed. His heart almost stopped. “Sharks!” Lei screamed. Her face twisted with terror. She jerked and went under, lifesaver and all. Only a cloud of red remained to mark the spot where she had perished. Wide-eyed and treading water like mad, Ralph couldn't have known what hit him. Three slick gray bodies struck him from behind, jaws gnashing. The blood red water turned into a roiling mass of fish and flesh, a feeding frenzy of unspeakable horror. Dwaine, heart racing, watched Peaches go under, her busty chest savagely clasped in razor-sharp jaws, chomping and gulping. “Son of a bitch!” Deck chairs started sliding toward the stern, a table, an umbrella crashing into the beer cooler. Horrible sounds were coming from the bellows of the yacht, a kind of mechanical wail. With blood pumping through him like lava, Dwaine hooked a leg on the rail, and with all his strength flipped over the cooler, spilling its contents. He set it upright, climbed inside and closed the lid as waves lapped at its sides and set it afloat. The Mary D. Light went to the bottom with a hissing gasp. Set adrift, Dwaine had no sense of time. An hour might have been two, or a day. Bobbing in the sea, his stomach felt sick. Finally, he got up the courage to push the cooler lid open. What he saw made his heart leap for joy. An island. Fruit laden palms swayed in the breeze and lush tropical greenery abounded. It looked like paradise. Using his hands, he paddled through the breakers, which tossed him onto a sandy shore. Hugging the ground, clutching sand in his hands, he felt as if he’d cheated death. He was safe. Rolling on his back, he yelled to the sky “Justice! You failed, you smelly bastard!” Then he saw a ship, not far away. He jumped up, waved his hands, and yelled until his throat was sore. But the ship disappeared over the horizon. Another boat went by, closer this time. Clambering over rocks and racing though dense vegetation, he waved and jumped up and down, but still, he couldn’t get their attention. Feeling invisible, his clothes now ripped to rags, he fell to the sand in exhaustion. Meow. Dwaine reeled around. Meow. Meow. Meow. What he saw struck terror to the core of his soul. Cats. Two three, ten, twenty, he couldn’t count them all. They were coming toward him from the jungle, meowing and purring, agate eyes glaring, little ones and big ones of every color scheme imaginable. Closer and closer, they swarmed over him now, licking and meowing and purring, licking and meowing and purring. “JUSTICE!”
On a hill overlooking Cat Island, Justice stood next to Mrs. Templeton, a salty sea breeze tugging at his coat. Wally, a baldheaded man of short stature, appeared and took her hand. “We can’t thank you enough, Justice.” “I’ve got my Wally back,” said Mrs. Templeton. “For eternity.” “I’m happy for both of you,” said Justice. As they watched the cats milling around Dwaine, rubbing their bodies against him, Mrs. Templeton said, “They’re such loving creatures.” Dwaine’s screams rose on the wind. Justice tipped his hat. “He doesn't see it that way.” Her eyes saddened. “I feel sorry for all those young people who died.” “Things aren’t always what they seem,” said Justice. “I wanted you to see them punished and destroyed for what they did to you. Only then would you be able to let go of those bad feelings you've been harboring inside." "You mean...they aren't dead?" "On the contrary, the Mary D. Light sailed into Fort Lauderdale. After I’d arranged for the authorities to find your original will, they were waiting at the pier to arrest the gang.” “But I saw the boat sink, the sharks…” “The story the gang gave investigators was much different from what you saw in the light. Seems Dwaine got really drunk, started freaking out, dumped the cooler and jumped overboard with it. By the time they got the yacht slowed down and turned around, all they found was the cooler floating aimlessly, no sign of Dwaine anywhere. They assumed the sharks ate him.” “But what about the money?” “With the gang in custody, a federal judge confiscated your stolen assets and reinstated your final will.” “Sarah’s getting my fortune?” “Soon,” said the ghoulish detective. “But not before she’s stretched Mr. Ralston’s patience to the limit. He needs to learn a little humility. Money can make one strong or one stupid.” Smiling, Mrs. Templeton looked out across the tropical island. “How can so many cats survive here? There must be thousands of them.” “Mice live in the rocks,” Justice said. “They've plenty of fruits and grasses and seeds to eat. The cats feed on the mice.” “Dwaine should be quite comfortable here.” “'Til his allergies get the best of him.” Dwaine cursed the cats gathered around him and screamed again. "But I'm afraid he won't last very long," said Justice. “Oh, dear.” With a gust of wind, the ghoul was gone.
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