Companion

So there I was, asleep and dreaming my usual sweet dreams when that selfish bastard comes in pissed again. You’d think he could learn to be quiet considering he was not the only one living in this Godforsaken house.

I’ve heard him talking to his mates about when he lived with his parents and he’d have to be quiet but would accidentally knock something over or make some noise and his mum would go mad, but do you think he’d show the same consideration now? No, not a bit.

I suppose I should be grateful it’s not every night but it’s at least three out of four weekends. At least this time he hasn’t bought a girl back with him. When that happens not only do I get the stench of stale alcohol but the noises that come from the bedroom as well. Believe me these noises that come from the bedroom are far worse that the noises he makes when he comes home pissed. And sweet Jesus if he decides to have some, let’s call it “self-gratification” well those noises are just disgusting. You’d think he’d realise that he didn’t live here alone.

I loved him in the beginning. He’d come home and give me the affection I so richly deserved. He’d make me dinner and provide for me and never once expect anything but my love in return.

In the evening I’d lay next to him on the bed and he’d put his arm around me and stroke my back.

As the years went by he’d spend more nights out and then so would I. It became a competition to see who could be out the latest and in the beginning I’d win but then he got a new job, made new friends, found new places to go and eventually he’d be the winner.

I’d lie on the sofa and await his return and without me having to say anything he knew I was pissed off. I’d give him a look and he’d go off to bed. I stayed on the sofa for a while, just to see if he would come back down and when he didn’t I go off to my bed, rather than joining him.

And this is how my life would go until last night. Well it was actually earlier today although my concept of time is a little unsteady right now.

He came home, alone and pissed as I said before. I gave him my usual look but rather than go to bed he joined me on the sofa.

“At least you love me,” he said, looking at me and obviously seeking forgiveness. He lit the gas fire and looked at me as though I was his best friend. What little he knew.

He was asleep within half an hour and with my eyes feeling heavy and having already been asleep it wasn’t long before I joined him in the land of slumber and once again entered my dreams of the chase.

I didn’t hear him get up an hour later, and his confused, pissed state, think the fire place was the toilet and he pissed all over the fire. Putting it out. Leaving gas to leak around the room and house.

It wasn’t until well in to the morning when the coroner removed his body that I realised he was dead, having suffocated in his sleep from the gas fumes.

So why didn’t anyone move my body? I was lying right next to him for Gods sake!

’For Gods sake!’ That phrase has a new meaning now I’m dead.

I’m dead; it’s his fault and the one that calls himself God has deemed it so that I am to be eternally bound to his side until he finds true peace, otherwise known as his soul mate!

What the hell is that all about and why do I have to be involved?

It was bad enough being his “loyal companion” in life that to be given this seems like a very cruel and unusual punishment. I don’t remember doing anything so wrong in life that I should be dealt this in the afterlife!

Now, whereas I have taken this event in my stride (apart from being lumbered with him) he is still having difficulty accepting things. And he’s the one who gets to choose where we go.

So far we haven’t left the house! Which makes me feel great as I get to stare at my body while he just sits there with his head in his hands, sobbing.

Yeah mate, you have a good cry, that’ll bring me back!

I suppose I’m just bitter that I’m not only dead but stuck by his side for now until … well until he gets off his fat ass and looks for this soul mate.

I do actually have a job to do. You see he cannot communicate with anyone in anyway but I can. Not by talking but by the normal things cats can do. I can be seen yet he cannot. My role in this sordid twisted reality is to help him talk to his soul mate when he finally finds her. I must make sure they meet. How am I supposed to do that when she will be alive and he is dead? Yes, I am sure she’ll be alive. I wasn’t actually told this but it’s just something I know. Like being dead. No one told me I was dead, I just seemed to know it. And no one told me I was become his channel, I just happen to know it. I don’t know how I know it but I imagine it’s to do with Him. God. The all seeing all knowing. The bastard that put me here!