It was a night of dreams. This tale emerged from one.
Death came hard.
He hadn’t expected it. A loud noise behind him made him jump, turn, and stop as he crossed the street. A car raced toward him. He heard it but didn’t see it. The impact was short but hard.
Next that he knew, he was rising from his body, an unseen spirit slicing through the night. Below, his furry ginger body cooled on the asphalt. Stars peered through the dark, moving clouds, witnessing it all.
He was entering the quantum tunnel. Humans enjoy calling it the rainbow bridge. Amusing to him and many floofs but most respected most humans. Humans were often loyal, loving, and fun, and offered pretty good food.
He’d already used two lives, when he was two and five. First one was the stabbing. Loud voices spewed from his people. They wrestled and grunted. Glasses broke. Thumping and crying ensued.
Noises like that scared him. Fireworks. Arguments. Noisy machines.
Refuge in a dark closet among the shoes was sought. He didn’t know what was happening. Didn’t care. He never paid attention to anything not directly affecting him.
Silence fell. Body low, tail lower, he crept out.
His woman was crying on the kitchen floor. Salty snot and tears covered her face. She sagged against the dark wooden cupboards. His man was sprawled a few feet away. Blood expanded around him. A knife rose from his side.
He sniffed her, and then him, identifying anger. Love. Frustration. Pain. Death.
The decision to return the man to life was instantaneous. That wasn’t enough. The fight had shredded his people’s relationship. He not only needed to return the man to life but to a time before the fight.
Sitting, calming, eyes narrowing until they remained as emerald slits, the ginger boy focused on going back in time. A time bubble emerged in his head. He expanded it until it slipped out of his mind and into the air. Once it held him, he thought back through the hours, ignoring the shifting and burbling lights and sounds. Hard to do, because they mesmerized and threatened him.
Exhaustion skinned him after he finished. But worth it. They were happier. He took turns indulging in prolonged naps on their laps, attuning himself to their energies. When they moved, he moved, staying with them, wrapping around their legs to read their energy. As time tipped toward the remembered fight, he bit their arms or ankles, meowed and purred, or chewed their hair until their energy shifted.
“What’s with you, Gingerbread?” they asked, scratching his head and ruffling his fur. “You’re acting strange. Are you hungry? Do you want to play?”
Days passed without a fight. His purrs expanded into a loud, proud rasp. He’d succeeded.
The other life was a simpler matter, bringing the man back from death after a heart attack. After Gingerbread restored him on the sofa where his death had happened, the man awoke with Gingerbread curled up on his chest. Looking at the cat, he rubbed his mussed hair. “Wow, Gingerboy. That was some nap. I must’ve really been asleep. I feel so much better. Guess I needed it.”
Gingerbread purred back.
Yes, he decided as he floated down the quantum tunnel. His life was good. He loved his people and would miss them. He would go back.
Pushing against the growing energy currents, he pressed the other way until the night opened around him again. A light rain was slicking everything, turning it all black. His body remained where he’d succumbed. Getting back into it was a little hard because of the time which had passed, but he persisted, just as he had when he’d shed the collars they put on him. He would never wear a collar. Hated them.
“Ginger,” the man called. And then whistled.
Springing up, Gingerbread ran across the street and up to the front door. “Finally,” the man said, bending, petting him. “Was that you in the street? What were you doing? Don’t you know how dangerous that is? That’s why I worry about you.”
He picked Gingerbread up. “Come on, GB. Time to go in. Tomorrow is another day.”
Michael Seidel, writer 