What is an Absynthian Cat? I don’t know, but our calico cat was dying, and our veterinarian could do nothing. And if that wasn’t enough the arborist said bark beetles had killed the pine tree my parents planted in the front yard for my first birthday. My brother, David, my mother, Helen, and my father, James, were gone. And, now my brother’s cat was dying.

My heart cried out an old cliche: If God is loving and able, why this?

I believed in God. I still do. But the answers people gave never satisfied me. Empty reassurances. Words that forced me to nod and pretend they helped. But, they didn’t. And, they never did.

Calicat lay on our bed, wrapped in a blanket. Her body, once full of mischief, felt like paper under my hand. Her breaths, shallow and uneven, came slower. The scent of warm fur lingered, fading. We whispered to her, ran our hands over her frail frame, and then—she was gone.

Jackie, our dog, was never the same. First, she lost my father. Now, her playmate. She sniffed at Calicat’s empty bed, let out a long, low whimper, then curled into herself. The house felt hollow.

Another Cat – An Absynthian Cat

“You can always get another pet,” people say. As if pets are interchangeable. As if their presence doesn’t carve itself into the walls, the routines, the quiet moments of a house. As if replacing them erases the grief.

Still, the shelter was overcrowded. Too many animals, and not enough homes. So,they were offering free adoptions. And, maybe saving one could bring life back into our home.

So, we visited two shelters. At the first, we thought we had found some kittens we were interested in—small, fragile, full of possibility. But, the shelter closed before we could finalize anything. We would have to return in the morning.

Then we went to a second shelter.

And, that’s where we met the cat.

An Abyssinian Cat—sleek, regal, yet unsettling. Its fur, a rich, ruddy hue, shimmered oddly in the dim light. And, for a moment, it flickered—black, then a ghostly green, then back again. That isn’t an absynthian cat, is it?

A trick of the light. Right?

A scent curled through the air. Herbal, sharp, laced with something sweet. Absinthe? That made no sense.

I blinked. The cat didn’t. Its deep emerald eyes locked onto mine, unwavering. A weight settled in my chest, a whisper of something unknown, something just out of reach. My stomach tightened. A shiver ran through me.

Had we met before?

No. Impossible. Just grief, twisting my mind, making me see meaning where there was none.

Still, my hand signed the papers. Eileen stood beside me, watching, silent but contemplative. My ten-year-old son clutched my sleeve, eyes wide, drawn to the cat as much as I was.

As I carried the cat home, a strange sensation coiled around me—like I had invited something old, something knowing, into my life.

Something watching.

Something waiting.