CW: Themes/mentions of death
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He waits in his car for nine minutes before approaching my parlor. He stops at the window, leans forward to stare at the shop sign, waits for the person behind him to continue down the sidewalk. Only then does he glance over his shoulder, throw open my door, and scamper inside, holding an ash-gray cat as close to his chest as a love letter.
He shuts the door then turns to take in the shop's interior: the jars and vials on the shelf labelled "Potions," the votive candles tucked inside random nooks and crannies, the cuckoo clock in the corner, the crystal ball on the table in the middle of the room, and me waiting behind it. They're all for show, these decorations, though I'd never admit that to a customer. People are more likely to take you seriously when you conform to their preconceived fantasies.
"Hello," he says tentatively, shifting the cat's weight in his short-sleeved grasp. He stays where he is, the doorknob still within arm's reach.
"I've been expecting you," I say. It's another part of the fantasy, this mixed bag of a sentence. Sometimes those four words are enough to get a person to let down their guard. Other times, they're punctuated with the sharp slam of the front door.
This man, old enough to be my son, takes his time weighing my words, gives the shop another appraisal. A minute later, his shoulders relax, his grip on the cat slackens, and he takes a step forward. Then another and another, until he's on the other side of the table. Standing. Not sitting.
"You can tell me what's wrong with my cat, then?"
"Please, sit," I say, motioning to the other side of the table.
He pulls the chair out, plops the cat down, stays standing. Crosses his arms like so many skeptics do.
"What's the little one's name?" I ask, turning to the cat. Unlike its owner, it doesn't seem the least bit interested in its surroundings. It yawns before curling up into a chunky gray ball and closing its eyes.
The man scoffs. "You're the psychic, lady. Don't you know?"
The sign on the window, the one this man spent so long staring at before coming inside, reads "Madame Toussaint: Pet Whisperer." A psychic I am not. Not anymore. But that nuance is lost on some, so instead I say, "Well, you see, the past is more my specialty, my area of expertise."
He considers this statement, grunts, says, "His name is Oberon." And at my insistence, he scoops up Oberon and sets him on the table beside my crystal ball. The cat lifts his head for a moment, then returns to chasing sleep.
When I tell the man the fee for a consultation—which amounts to fifty dollars more than the flat rate, courtesy of what I call the "attitude tax"—he balks but begrudgingly accepts. Finally seated, stroking Oberon's fur, he says, softer than before, "Look, I just want to know what's going on with him, if he's gonna be okay. He's like this all the time now. Tired, I mean. No energy at all. I went to the vet and she couldn't find anything wrong. She told me some cats have these kinds of phases, that they bounce back eventually. But it's been over a month now and he's still like this. I looked you up online and thought you could, you know, do something."
I listen. Nod my head at the appropriate intervals. Wait to speak when the gaps between his words congest the room with silence. Glide a hand down Oberon's rigid body to assess the problem. When it looks like the man has said all he needs to say, that's when I break the news: "There's nothing wrong with your cat. The thing is, Oberon is on his ninth life."
The skepticism is back, but at least now it's laced with a look of curiosity: a raised eyebrow, a pursing of the lips. It's a small victory not to be instantly dismissed. I take what I can get these days.
"What, you don't actually want me to believe cats have nine lives, do you?" he says.
"I want you to believe the truth."
He pauses, glances at the crystal ball. "Go on, then. Make me a believer."
Like a conductor, I place one hand on Oberon and wave the other around the crystal ball, which fills with a cloudy white haze. This is also for show, a parlor trick; the real magic is happening in my mind. When I close my eyes, I see them—temples and sand, sphinxes and mummies, Oberon's forgotten memories. The visions come one after another like pictures on a slideshow. And among them all is a cat, dark-furred and regal, sitting on the side of a pharaoh. The story comes to me shortly thereafter.
"In his first life," I begin, "Oberon was born among the ancient Egyptians. He spent his early days as a stray, hunting down the mice and rats infesting the temples. He was swift, capable of pouncing in a second, with claws as sharp as daggers. He was so skilled at dispatching the rodents that when word got back to the pharaoh, Oberon was taken in and given a home in the palace. He was revered, worshipped, graced with gold necklaces and praise. When he died, the pharaoh even had him mummified as a tribute. By all accounts it was a good life."
As a vision of Oberon, wrapped head-to-tail in linen sheets, recedes from my mind, the man across from me is quiet, his expression inscrutable. He looks neither at me nor the crystal ball, but at his cat.
"In his second life," I continue as the image of an amphitheatre blankets my mind, "Oberon was raised during the Roman Empire, in a town adjacent to The Colosseum. He—"
"The Colosseum?" interrupts the man. "That was hundreds of years after the ancient Egyptians, and that's being generous."
"These things aren't always immediate," I say. "They can be, but sometimes a soul can wander centuries before it finds a proper vessel."
He says nothing, not even when I end with "By all accounts it was a good life" again.
I'm halfway through chronicling Oberon's third life, the one where he was briefly reincarnated in Japan, when the man stops me again.
"I don't believe you," he says, and points to the hazy crystal ball. "I can't see anything through all that crap. Nothing. I want to see it."
"You don't believe me."
"I want to see it."
'"I can't do that."
"Riiight," he says, bending to collect his cat. "Can you see why I'm having a hard time believing you? Maybe coming here was a mistake."
You have to understand: Pet whispering is not a lucrative career. Shocking, I know, so I take what I can get here too. That's why, against my better judgment, I do something I haven't done since I was a little girl: With my free hand, the one that isn't touching Oberon, I take the man's hand in my own and tell him to close his eyes. He does, and side by side we watch the visions of seventh century Japan free-fall their way into our imaginations.
Actually, it was slightly different when I was a little girl. Back then, I saw premonitions of the future instead of the past, things yet to come instead of events you might find in a history book if you scoured long enough. In those days I had a best friend, Suzette, whom I told about my powers. She would constantly smile at me with her buck teeth and beg me to let her see what she was getting for Christmas or her birthday, and I would hold her hand and concentrate hard and we'd watch the visions together. Afterwards, I would always be exhausted, short of breath, drenched in sweat, a side effect of having a two-person premonition. Eventually, I lied and told her I'd lost my powers, and then I stopped using them altogether after Suzette's mother got sick and passed away and she blamed me for not predicting that sooner.
When I tried again years later, late one night with our family cat, putting my hands on her tail and concentrating, that's when I realized things had changed.
Suzette is who I'm thinking about when I feel my breathing become shallow. One of our hands—I can't tell whose—tightens its grip. The images of Oberon start to spin on their axis, like the slideshow projector was turned on its side.
I let go of his hand. The room slowly creeps back into dark focus, the man and his cat and the ticking of the cuckoo clock. Outside, the sun is shining.
"That's incredible," he whispers, clenching and unclenching his fist. "Wow. You really can see the past and—hey, are you okay?"
My skin is clammy, my breath ragged. The woman in the crystal ball's reflection has more than a few strands of hair out of place.
"I'm fine," I say in a voice almost resembling my own. "It's just a toll to do that with another person. Takes a lot out of you."
He looks sheepish, like a kid who got caught trying to sneak into a second movie at the theater. "I'm sorry," he says, and it sounds like he really means it. He runs a hand through Oberon's fur. "You don't have to keep doing that. You can just tell me what you see in your crystal ball."
To his credit, the man is quiet as I explain the situation of Oberon's fourth life, when he was a passenger on the Mayflower. When I get to the fifth and sixth lives, both of which were cats born into the exact same family, two generations apart, the man offers Oberon a belly rub. And even on the seventh life, when I describe how Oberon had to be left behind when his owner got drafted in the second World War, the man simply nods his head.
The eighth life is when things change.
For one thing, Oberon, who has been quietly resting this whole time, sits up and starts to wriggle, trying to pry our hands off him. And for another, the only visions I'm seeing all come from the same night. There's nothing of Oberon's life before then.
"Hold still, buddy, we're almost done," the man says, taking the cat in his arms in spite of its fussing and kicking and meowing. "Go on," he tells me. "I've got him."
With my pinky on Oberon's head, I close my eyes, concentrate, and immediately wish I hadn't. The images appear in a blur, like someone smushed two slideshows together, then put the amalgamation on fast forward. Things come and go from my sight: a woman, a man, a house, Oberon, the moon and the stars, a heavy container, something bright. It takes a while before I realize what that something is.
"What is it?" the man asks, wincing when one of Oberon's claw bites into his arm. "Ouch! You see anything?"
It takes everything I have to swallow the hairball-thick lump in my throat. "In his eighth life," I say, steadying my voice as best I can, "Oberon suffered a tragic fate."
They're quiet, the man and Oberon, who's back to his sleepy, yawning self now that my hands are flat on the table. Outside, a firetruck speeds by. A kid stares at us through the window, points like we're toys he wants. The cuckoo clock chirps, signaling the coming of the hour in fifteen minutes. The man speaks.
"I want to see it."
This time there's no skepticism in his tone, no reluctance to believe me. This time he wants to know what his cat has been through.
"Please. It doesn't have to be for a long time. I just want to see."
Would you believe me if I told you Suzette said those exact same words to me all those years ago, when she wanted to know if her dad was going to buy her a new birthday Barbie? But hearing them now, motivated by curiosity instead of selfishness, it makes me wonder if I can help these two.
As if he can understand, Oberon meows on command. But this one is different than the one a moment ago. Now it's a willing sound, an invitation.
"Please," the man says again.
I'm not quite sure why I do it. It's not the money, otherwise I would've asked for an additional "hazard pay" tax beforehand. And it's not the thrill of the job either, because this is the first time I've helped a customer like this. But there's something about going there with someone else, to the past instead of the future, that makes it feel safer. That makes me feel like I'm not responsible for something that's already happened.
So despite myself, despite knowing how I'll feel after, I hold out my hand and let the slideshow play one last time.
I wasn't certain before, but now I'm sure that the man in this vision is Oberon's past owner, an ex-husband, a ex-lover, not some random criminal. I see the glint of jilted malice in his eyes, even though it's the middle of the night in the vision. I feel the vengeance pouring out of him like the gasoline he douses the front porch with. And I feel the spark of anger flickering as he strikes the match.
That's where I stop the vision, right before the disaster, right before there's no turning back. That way this man doesn't see what I saw the first time: the way Oberon, smelling the fire, ran immediately to his owner's room and clawed at the door, trying to wake the woman up as the flames and smoke filled in the starry night. The way he could have run away, slipped out the cat door, but chose to stay with this woman to the end.
The silence doesn't last as long this time. "Is that all there is?" he whispers. But the way he says it, it's like he's asking because he has to, like he doesn't want to know the real answer.
My heart thumps against my chest. A cold sweat trickles down my forehead. The world comes back to me in bits and pieces, and I'm okay again. It's only when I'm about to take my hand from Oberon's head to wipe at it that I get a feeling in my stomach, a pretzeling of my insides. It's not a feeling I get anymore, but it's one I recognize from years ago: a premonition, a glimpse into the future. In my mind's eye, I see Oberon, his legs meekly plodding along a carpet, his body impossibly thin, his nose and right ear marred by unsightly red lumps that can only be one thing—cancer.
Soon. Within a year. The culmination of his ninth life.
The premonition ends.
Now my stomach knots from apprehension. The man is patient, waiting, expecting an answer. With great care and effort not to look at Oberon, I ask him his name.
"It's Neal," he says in a voice gentler than I would never have thought him capable when he entered my parlor.
Offering him my briefest smile, I wish, not for the first time, that things didn't have to end like this. That explaining the future to someone was as easy as explaining the past. For all the things I'm able to tell people, bad news isn't one of them.
"I'm sorry, Neal," I say, "but that's all I see. As I've told you, the past is my specialty, and that was all there is. Oberon's just tired. He's had a long life. Lives."
"I see," Neal says, his voice still subdued. He looks down at Oberon—Oberon, who gave his life for his owner in that fire—as though seeing him for the first time. Gently, he places a hand behind the cat's ear, the one soon to be infected, and scratches. Oberon purrs and his tail does a little jig. Neal smiles, says, "So that's what's gotten into you, huh, buddy?"
Something about the gesture squeezes the words out of me: "But if you want my advice, I'd cherish every day you two have together, however long that may be. The future is a frail thing. Impossible to predict. That's why I deal in the past, things that have already happened. Certainties." Then, before I can stop myself, I add, "And you might want to get a second opinion from another vet. Mistakes can happen."
Suzette would've looked like Neal does now, I imagine, head tilted to one side, eyes widening, mouth slightly ajar. I imagine so, anyway.
"I'll look into that," he says, giving each word ample room to breathe, to live. "Thank you. How much do I owe you again?" he asks, then opens his wallets and hands me the amount I tell him, the flat rate. He thanks me again for the advice, tells me he should get going now. I tell him that sounds wise.
Neither of us move. The air around us is different, charged with something electric and unspoken. The cuckoo clock chirps, once, twice, three times. Outside where it's sunny, a woman cups her hands together against the window and peers inside, Great Dane in tow. She's my next appointment. I don't particularly care for her, but she's a generous tipper. For that reason alone I should be rushing to start her consultation now.
But we just sit there, Neal and I. We sit and listen to the world around us: the echo of the clock ticking time away, and the woman tapping her bright-red fingernails on the windowpane, and the noise of Oberon breathing between us on the table, a reedy wheezing as fragile as the future, the sound of a life well lived.
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104 comments
Zack, I have experienced heartbreak many times while reading your stories. But this one-just shattered it. Cats are my weakness. The atmosphere you have conjured here is pure magic; there are a few sublime moments when all the animate, inanimate, past, present and future meld together and the reader is treading on Zackland. So so well done! My fave lines- ‘holding an ash-gray cat as close to his chest as a love letter.’ ‘Wait to speak when the gaps between his words congest the room with silence.’ ‘a reedy wheezing as fragile as the futur...
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"Cats are my weakness" could be the tagline of my life. I've never read a more relatable sentence in my life. 😂 Thank you as always for the confidence boost, Suma. "Pure magic" is a lovely compliment. And the lines you mentioned all were tweaked and tweaked ceaselessly (and even now I'm looking at ways I could've improved them), so I'm happy to hear they were effective.
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Congratulations, Zack!
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Thank you very much, Suma!
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Okay you made me cry at the end 😭 Now I've got to gather my thoughts. What a lovely story! First, Oberon is an excellent name for a cat. Second: Neal is such a loveable character from the start, doing whatever he can to help his cat, even if he doesn't quite believe they can help. It's heartbreaking to know he is about to lose Oberon 💔 The pet whisperer's character was great too, love that she had "attitude tax" in place 😹 Her backstory was great too, just enough info - and I liked the imagery of two young girls sharing visions of the f...
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Confession: I'm also a fan of the cat's name, but while writing this story, my fingers went on autopilot and kept typing "Oreo" instead of "Oberon." Force of habit is wild. xD I'm glad the human characters came through in a good light, too. I thought the might've been too negatively portrayed while writing this. But then, I can never get a good sense for what I've written, so. 🤷(Also, attitude tax should totally be a thing for rude customers. Would make people think twice about how they behave, I bet.) And how is it possible that you got A...
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Tell me you worked in customer service without telling me you worked in customer service! xD Now I'm wondering if I have ever typed another character's name for a new one... I've definitely mistyped a lot of their names but maybe haven't mixed them up yet! Surely the day will come! What great taste you've got with those favourite lines! ;) Did you know I can guess pretty accurately by now what lines you would highlight in my stories too? :D Maybe I should only put those down on the page LOL. And you don't necessarily need a talking animal...
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Cats seem to bring you luck - Congrats for the shortlist!! You know I loved this story, so happy to see it recognised!😸
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Thank you, my dear! Was one of the most enjoyable to write recently, so I'm over the moon today. (Now I just need to shoehorn cats in every one of my stories from now on and I'll break that Reedsy record in no time. 😹)
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Just looking at next week's prompts - maybe the fox will do? 👀 I wanted to write a kitsune story for ages..! And I doubt I'd have the time this week to do it.. but I look forward to your many cats (Easy, just write one chapter for each of Oberon's previous lives!) Ah, and those shelter cats, too!
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Next week's prompts are a total enigma to me. 😂 Been staring at them all day and haven't had a single idea for any, so I was thinking of making that an off-week. The kitsune one is definitely the most interesting of the bunch though, so maaaaybe something will come of that before the deadline.
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Hey Zack, Well, this one was clever right off the bat. I loved that tiles and the way you chose to add “nine minutes” into the opening line. I thought your way of telling the story of the lives within the story of this visit was very cool-maybe a subconscious nod to the previous week’s prompts? I picked out a favorite line as well: When I get to the fifth and sixth lives, both of which were cats born into the exact same family, two generations apart, the man offers Oberon a belly rub. It offered a rather romantic view of how souls travel th...
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Thank you, Amanda. I kept waffling between the number of minutes to put in the opening line (first ten, then eight, and finally I settled on nine because of the narrative), so I'm glad you saw what I was going for with that. And I love both your interpretation of your favorite line and the thought that a story like this can have different meanings at different stages of a person's life. Now there's a concept for a story in itself. Thanks again!
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The magical twist is an interesting premise - mystical past-reading of animals. Furthermore, as an apparent downgrade of a more general premonition ability. We can say she lost the premonition ability due to trauma - no doubt Suzette's accusations were devastating - and so it's curious it returns now. That her "partner" is focused on genuine curiosity about a loved one instead of materialistic greed may well play a role. The experience is very intimate - it must be, for they share in the life of the cat, and they witness Oberon' s 8th death...
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Nothing gets past you, Michał. Spot on with all of it: the trauma from the Suzette accusations, Oberon having a kind of understanding of what's happening around him along with the permissive meowing and the making peace, and the premotion/healing correlation. You got it all. You're my favorite person of the day for this. Thanks!
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Congrats on the shortlist! Looks like cat stories are working for you :)
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Thank you, Michał! :)
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Zack, Just joined up with Reedsy prompts and because of your story and others, I'm so glad I did. You do an excellent job of placing the reader in the story, experiencing the same things as the narrator. Loved your story!
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What a lovely comment, Tricia! Thank you very much. Hope you find it is what you're looking for here on Reedsy - it's a lovely community.
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I too am recently signed up and am finding myself both inspired and awed by the quality of writing; imaginations that conjure stories moving, funny, exciting etc. This was a great read. Thank you
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Welcome to you too, Karel! There are so many talented writers on here; it's like one big classroom. I'm always learning from people and am consistently amazed by the different stories and techniques that are out there. Hope you find what you're looking for on here too. And thank you for the read.
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Hi Zack. Due to very unfortunate and very unforseen circumstances, I wasn't able to be here early, but thankfully, I was eventually able to make it, and I'm very glad because this was good. When I saw this prompt, I immediatelythought of you. Because you already have a story that fits perfectly into it. The Oreo one, I think What Happens in Vegas is the title. And I was very curious to see if you'd still take on this prompt, because if I were you I wouldn't (same thing is happening with me this week. The prompt about something being too go...
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Naomi, if you were ten years late to a story, I'd still value your commentary. It means a lot to me. And God knows I've been SUPER late to some of your stories before, so you definitely don't have to worry about being early to mine. Hope the unfortunate and unforeseen circumstances are behind you, and that you're doing okay now. Funny you should mention it too, because this particular story was my backup plan. The first idea for this week had another sassy talking cat, and that piece had to be discarded for the exact reason you mentioned: I...
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Congratulations on the shortlist, Zack! This story totally deserved the recognition.
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Thank you, Naomi! Was skeptical about this one, so that was a nice surprise this morning.
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Awesome, as expected :D
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Thank you kindly, Ms. Wafflez!
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The prose master is at it again. It is all beautiful, but here are some of my favorites: ...holding an ash-gray cat as close to his chest as a love letter (this is so beautiful because the emotion is so relatable and yet, when you think about it, no one holds a love letter to their chest, really. Do they?) -People are more likely to take you seriously when you conform to their preconceived fantasies. (that's why, as a management analyst, I pretend to like math) -Wait to speak when the gaps between his words congest the room with silence. ...
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Wally, you're too kind. If anyone's the prose master here, statistically speaking, it's you. 3 shortlists in 6 stories is nothing to sneeze at. But I'm grateful for the compliment. You hit on my favorite lines too - fair point on the love letter thing as well. And thank you for highlighting the juxtaposition. I hope you didn't read this one twice - it's a LONG story (even reached the word count limit) and that'd be a lot of time you devoted. But if you did, thank you a second time!
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I did indeed read it twice. I would read you once, twice three times, or forever. Keep telling these stories.
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Beautiful. Heartbreaking.
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Thank ya very much, Tara.
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What a great story. I was gripped. Thanks Zack. When the stupid cat I am waiting for finally turns up for its breakfast - I will be kind and think of Oberon. Thanks again.
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Thank you very much, Stevie. And give your cat a big hug for me!
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The warmth that you’re able to conjure in this story is almost surreal - and I’m not one to misuse that word. Really a beautiful depth you’ve created here, feels so homey and authentic. Also, it maintains a mysterious aura. Very well done. I liked your take on the “9 lives” of cats. Very creative; really interesting perspective. The cat’s development, especially, I liked. Compelling. Another great story; well done, and thanks for sharing!
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Thank you, Nathaniel! "Homey and authentic" is a fantastic kindness. Glad the development translated to the page too - the word count limit really left a lot of stuff on the editing floor with this one. Thanks again!
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Many congrats on the shortlist!! So well deserved :)
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Many thanks for the kindness, Nathaniel! And it's only a matter of time before I'm the one congratulating you.
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This is a beautiful story, and so well told, you are a master at manipulating the heart strings of the reader. I love the two intertwined tales, the pet whisperer and the nine cat lives. We really feel for both of them. What impressed me is that you are able to show such character development in the flashbacks. We can understand Madame Toussaint, and how she has come to be the person she is, through her little asides and reflections. Her naturally compassionate nature has been hurt by people who don’t understand her and although she hesita...
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Thank you, Michelle! You got what I was going for, trying to juxtapose Oberon's past lives with the pet whisperer's own past. Flashbacks are not a strength of mine whatsoever (always so confusing to know when to use them, and how much to say), so I'm beyond pleased to hear that they worked here. You got her personality down to a T. I love this comment. Thank you for the close reading, and thank you for making me think of my story from a different angle!
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Zack, you are just magical... the way you weave stories and unique ideas is so unlike anything I've ever read; I truly look forward to your offerings anew every week, and this one did not disappoint (they never do). So sad and beautiful, the love for the man and his cat, and the heart in the reader-of-lives. I think, things can be done, and wish she had told him... maybe she does, too. But in the end, it was how it had to be, and it was perfect.
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Thank you, Wendy! Definitely trying to get a little more creative with my stories for 2023, a little less predictable, as per my new year's resolution. I'd like to think she tells him straight up too, but it's anyone's guess there. That's the fun of it.
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Shortlist awesomeness! Congrats! :)
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Thank you very much, Wendy!
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"By all accounts it was a good life" could definitely be used to describe Oberon's ninth one as well. I kind of thought that this one was gonna turn out like another Oreo the talking cat story -- oh boy, was I wrong. Incredibly heart-wrenching ending aside, this was a really entertaining story! It was fun to see not only Oberon's "backstory" with his nine lives, but Madame Toussaint's past, as well. Most of the other commenters touched on this already, but there are so many really well-done descriptive lines. It was an incredibly fun read,...
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Kai, it's been forever! I hope you've been well, and I hope even more than you've kept up with your writing. Was just thinking about one of your stories (the devils in the kitchen one) the other day. Glad to see your name again. Glad the two pasts, Oberon's and Madame Toussaint's, translated to the page. I was struggling to fit both in at the same time, so I was wondering if it was going to work. Ditto on the ending. This makes me feel better about it. Thank you, thank you!
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Zack, this is a funny line. "The man scoffs. "You're the psychic, lady. Don't you know?" I enjoyed the intertwining of history with Oberon's nine lives. Very creative and well done. I thought the side stories about Oberon in each life were interesting and engaging. Not to mention this is a creative response to the prompt. It has a "je ne sais quoi" about the Madame Toussaint: Pet Whisperer. The details were just so spot on. I got a Ghost Movie vibe with Patrick Swazy and Whoopy Golberg when he jumped into her body to feel his wife again. So ...
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Thank you, Lily. Glad some of the humor came through here - thought this story would be too depressive without a funny line here or there to offset that. And bonus points for the Ghost reference - I'll definitely take that! And you got exactly what I was going too, with the "paying heed" read. Madame Toussaint's way of 'making right' for the Suzette thing, I'd think. Thanks again!
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Nicely done. This read’s beautifully and has many wonderful descriptive passages and metaphors.
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Thank you, Andrew! Much appreciated.
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I loved learning about Oberon and his nine lives. The fire one was obviously very emotional, and of course, knowing the future outcome. The props of this story are how you build the MCs characters while still telling the story. Well done. On a side note, I wrote about a psychic medium too! I always think it's magical when muses align. Like we tapped into the same thread of creativity, interpreting it in our own unique way.
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Thank you, KT. Wanted to make this story as much about the owner and cat as the MC, so I'm glad to read this comment. And great minds think alike with that psychic medium thing, huh? Glad to see someone else went there this week! I really enjoyed reading yours.
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Damn, this is amazingly good! Your first paragraph ended with such lyricism: "holding an ash-gray cat as close to his chest as a love letter." The story amazes me, Zack. So many great phrases: "...Wait to speak when the gaps between his words congest the room with silence." "He looks sheepish, like a kid who got caught trying to sneak into a second movie at the theater." "A kid stares at us through the window, points like we're toys he wants." "...I get a feeling in my stomach, a pretzeling of my insides." Just to name a few. There are so...
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Having just come from your story, Del, this is like the biggest compliment. A huge thanks for the compilation of the lines that stood out to you - it helps me tremendously for my future stories to know when a sentence was on the right track. And more thanks for the kindness. Was feeling uncertain about this one, so this makes me feel a lot better. Thank you, thank you!
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I must admit I’m in awe of your style and skills. This one is just as enjoyable as the rest. Bravo
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Cool.
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