Chapter 1The Ghost in My Phone

Three years after my cat died, he came to me in a dream, meowing.

He said he was hungry. He said the other cats were bullying him. He said he was cold when he tried to sleep...

My heart shattered.

I went to his grave and burned all his favorite things: a can of tuna, his little catnip mouse, and—just in case—a 3D-printed Wolverine claw.

That night, a new app mysteriously appeared on my phone. It was called "Whisker."

When I opened it, my cat Lucky’s face filled the screen. His little paws were scratching frantically at the display.

“Mom? Is that you?”

“Mom, I miss you so much!”

Behind him, a group of scruffy-looking ghost cats were nursing their wounds, hissing in frustration.

“You’re a cheater! Calling your mom when you lose a fight is against the rules!”

* * *

It all started during a work trip to New Orleans right around Halloween. The city was alive with a strange, electric energy. I saw a woman in Jackson Square leaving out bowls of food and water along a row of makeshift altars. I saw an old man lighting candles for spirits I couldn't see. In one of the famous cemeteries, the "cities of the dead," people had left countless offerings on the tombs.

There were the usual flowers and photos, but I also saw a baby bottle next to a half-empty can of beer, and a plate of spicy jambalaya. Offerings for the young souls and the old soldiers, I guessed. They were placed on the ground, so that any spirit, even one who couldn't stand, could have a dignified meal.

But what made my breath catch in my throat was a small pile in the corner.

Someone had left out bags of cat and dog food.

A little sign was propped up against them: For all God's creatures, big and small.

Tears instantly welled in my eyes.

My cat, Lucky, had been gone for three years. Every year on the anniversary of his passing, I’d leave his favorite treats at his little grave in my backyard, but I never knew if they reached him. Do the rules of the afterlife apply to animals? Is there a spectral mailman for beloved pets?

I’d heard New Orleans was full of spiritualists. On a whim, I found a woman in a small shop in the French Quarter, surrounded by herbs and candles.

"Excuse me," I started, feeling foolish. "I want to leave some things for my cat who passed away. Is there any way to know if he'll get them?"

The woman wasn't the spooky figure I'd imagined. She was a kind-faced old woman with warm eyes. She was burning incense, the smoke curling in the air like dancing spirits. For a moment, it didn't feel scary at all. It felt like coming home.

"Here," she said, her voice like rustling leaves. She handed me a small vial of clear liquid. "An old folk remedy. Anoint your eyes with this. You'll see what you need to see."

I did as she said.

The world flickered. Gray, hazy shapes drifted at the edges of my vision—some vaguely human, others like the ghosts of animals, all of them like mist I couldn't quite grasp. I scanned the spectral crowd, my heart pounding, but I couldn't find him.

Defeated, I wrote down Lucky’s name, a description of him, and our home address on a piece of paper, and asked the woman if she could somehow "forward" my offerings to him.

On my way back to the hotel, I saw an old woman hunched over, searching for something on the sidewalk. It was late, and I was worried for her.

"Ma'am? Are you looking for something? Can I help you?"

She looked up, her face etched with worry. "Young lady, have you seen a little tuxedo cat? White chest and paws, green eyes?"

I shook my head. "No, I'm sorry."

She sighed, a long, weary sound. "Thank you anyway."

I walked on. A sudden gust of wind blew past me, and when I looked back, the old woman was gone.

...

That night, I dreamed of my cat.

He was meowing, his beautiful black and white fur matted and dirty.

"Mom, I miss you so much," he cried, a heartbreaking little sound.

I stared, unable to believe it. My hand trembled as I reached out and pulled him into my arms.

"Lucky?"

"Mrow!"

I hugged him tight, tears streaming down my face, my whole body shaking with a joy so fierce it hurt. "Lucky! You're back! Oh, I missed you so, so much!"

Lucky buried his head against my chest, his purr a rumbling engine of happiness. I ran my hands all over him, checking his old wounds, asking him if he was okay, why he hadn't come to see me sooner.

He told me he was always hungry, that bigger ghost cats stole his food, that he shivered at night from a cold that had nothing to do with the weather. He asked me if I didn't love him anymore. Why had I forgotten him?

Finally, he looked at me, his green eyes full of a sorrow that broke my heart all over again.

"Mom... I'm sorry I wasn't strong enough. I died before you got there."

I bit my lip so hard I tasted blood, forcing back a sob. My voice shook. "No, baby. You were the bravest boy. You held on for so long. It's my fault. I'm the one who wasn't there... I've missed you every single day."

I'm so sorry I didn't get to say goodbye.

Lucky, never the brightest bulb, seemed satisfied with this. His tail gave a happy flick. "I missed you too, Mom!!!"

"Baby," I asked, "did you get any of the things I left for you?"

He licked his ghostly lips. "I did! An old lady gave them to me!"

...Three years. It took three years for him to get his first care package. What kind of existence had my poor baby been living?

Fresh tears pricked my eyes. "Why didn't you come to me in a dream sooner?"

He hung his head. "Cats have to work in the afterlife. You have to earn enough points to send a dream. But I'm not a good mouser... and nobody wants to hire me." He curled into a tiny, ashamed ball. "I'm sorry I'm not as good as the other cats. They all saved up enough to see their owners."

My heart ached. This was my precious boy, my pampered prince who used to need me to stand over his bowl before he'd deign to eat. I couldn't imagine him struggling like this.

"So how did you make it here tonight?" I asked.

He perked up, gesturing with his paw. "It was the old lady! She helped me! She chased away all the mean cats who were bullying me!" He even held up the slip of paper I’d given the spiritualist in New Orleans.

Taking advantage of his temporary spectral bravado, I rushed to burn his favorite can of tuna, his catnip mouse, and the 3D-printed Wolverine claw. My little ghost cat purred his goodbyes and faded away.

I then burned a stack of spirit money in the direction he'd indicated, bowing my head in gratitude. "Thank you," I whispered to the unseen benefactor. "Thank you for helping my cat."

Faintly, on the wind, I thought I heard an old woman's voice.

"Excuse me, but have you seen my cat?"

But when I looked, there was nothing there.

The next night, the "Whisker" app appeared on my phone. When I opened it, there was Lucky's face, batting at the screen.

"Mom? Is that you?"

"Mom, I miss you so much!"

Behind him, a gang of mangy-looking ghost cats were yowling. "You're a cheater! Loser has to call his mom! You don't fight with honor!"